


Plans

by Xie



Series: Only Time [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving to New  York, Justin makes a plan. Brian hasn't got a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
**Plans, Chapter One**  
by Xie

 _Before beginning, plan carefully._ -Cicero

**Melanie’s POV**

Brian’s not the total dick he acts like most of the time. I figured that out a long time ago, and if Lindsay wasn’t always ready to make excuses for him, and he wasn’t always ready to smack down even the smallest sign of sympathy or even just normal fucking human civility between the two of us, I probably wouldn’t be so hard on his ass.

Probably.

Don’t get me wrong, though. Just because he’s not a total dick doesn’t mean he’s not a partial one.

We were at his place, the big house he bought for him and Justin, for Christmas - me and Lindsay and the kids. They were all sleeping, Jenny in her little pink bedroom and Gus in his little blue bedroom (Brian will be punished for sex role stereotyping my children), but me, I was wandering around the halls with total insomnia. I hate sleeping in strange houses.

So I walked into the kitchen to get something to eat, and there’s Brian fucking some guy.

On the kitchen table, where we make our kids’ breakfast. Where we _eat_. With our kids asleep upstairs. At _Christmas_.

“That’s just great, Brian…. What the fuck are you doing fucking some guy on the fucking breakfast table with my children sleeping upstairs, are you out of your fucking mind??” is where I started, but I didn’t get too far before Mr. “Oh, he’s so sensitive and wounded” Kinney got this very sadistic smile on his face.

“Why, Melanie, I heard you were particularly partial to fucking the shit out of blondes on kitchen tables,” he said.

Lindsay was so going to die.

And then he added in a very sweet voice, “While your children sleep upstairs.”

Slowly and painfully die.

“Besides, it’s not very nice of you to interrupt my welcome home greeting to Justin. Say hi to Melanie, Justin.”

I looked down for the first time and registered the blond guy with his arms crossed over his face. Brian yanked his wrists down, and I was looking at an extremely red-faced upside down Justin.

“Hey, Mel.”

**Justin’s POV**

After Mel slammed out of the room, Brian jiggled his dick in my ass. “Well, that was anti-climactic.”

“That was great, Brian, really. Thanks a fucking lot.”

Brian just smiled. “She’d have figured out it was you when you were here in the morning.” I hate him to be reasonable when he’s got his dick in my ass. “So I figured, what the hell.”

I started to turn to the side, to get up, but he had his hands pressing on my hips and wouldn’t let me move. I leaned back, resting on my elbows, and looked at him, irritated. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He smiled at me then, and bent forward and rested his forehead on mine. “I don’t know, Justin, I’m kind of happy right where I am.” And then he started moving in me slowly, and while I’d really like to say I told him no and insisted we go up and do it in the bedroom with the door closed and locked, quietly, I didn’t. I let him fuck me on the kitchen table. And then we went upstairs to the bedroom and closed and locked the door and I let him fuck me again. And I did somewhat try to be quiet.

**Melanie’s POV**

The next morning when my darling wife woke up, I asked her one simple question. “What the motherfucking fuck made you think it would be OK with me to tell Brian about me fucking you on the kitchen table?”

Lindsay looked at me out from under a whole bunch of ratty blonde bangs and went, “Urgggh huh?” She’s a real morning person.

I told her the story, emphasizing the fact that Justin’s naked ass was right over the spot where she had made Gus and Jenny’s breakfast the day before, and she went, “Justin’s here?” Sharp. Focused. That’s Lindsay.

“Yes, Justin’s here, are you not listening to anything I’m saying?”

“What’s Justin doing here?”

“Getting fucked on the kitchen table. Try to follow the conversation.”

But she was gone, tying on her robe as she ran down the hall toward Brian’s room. Good move, Linds, I thought. Maybe you can catch them fucking. Them being so shy and repressed and all.

**Justin’s POV**

So, good thing we locked the door, because Lindsay started banging on it first thing in the morning, and Brian and I were kind of sprawled all over each other in a post-fuck haze, totally naked, with all the sheets and blankets on the floor. It’s not that I’m a complete sex addict or anything; it’s just that we’d pretty much gotten into the habit of fucking our brains out whenever I came to visit. We could always talk on the phone when we were apart; why waste time talking when we were together? It was really a very sensible arrangement.

Not that “sensible” is the word that springs to mind when I try to describe where things stood with Brian and me. This was our first Christmas since I’d gone to New York, and nobody actually knew I was coming. Including Brian. It wasn’t the first time I’d turned up on his doorstep, though, and I never gave him any warning. It was all part of my plan.

See, the minute I left for New York, I knew that there was a 98 percent chance that Brian would assume we’d never see each other again, a 1.8 percent chance he’d get on a flight to New York the next morning, and a 0.2 percent chance he’d do something I couldn’t predict. (I only included that in case there was a terrorist attack or something. The bombing of Babylon ended up generating a whole new chapter in the Kinney Operating Manual. The one where Brian goes totally insane and buys me a mansion and decides I should marry him.) So obviously, I had to have a plan. If I’d left it to Brian, I’d have never seen him again, because he gets into this noble self-sacrifice thing sometimes. It’s really kind of cute but seriously wastes a shitload of time.

The first thing I decided to try was anything other than what I tried after I told Brian I'd be staying longer than expected in California. That one was lots of uncomfortable cell phone conversations and long painful silences and me saying “I miss you” and him saying “Gotta go.” For a guy who makes his living convincing people that they want what he’s selling them, Brian Kinney has a hard time figuring out how to get what he wants. No, that’s not right; he knows exactly how to get what he wants. He just figures he’s not supposed to. Or doesn’t deserve it.

So instead, he focuses on how to get you, meaning me, to do what’s he’s decided is best for you, meaning me. No job, nowhere to live, no studio space, no specific goals? Those little details aren’t going to derail the Kinney Express. When Brian’s made up his mind that he knows just how you’re going to become a fully independent, self-actualized human being, there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop him. All you can do is get out of the way.

And I figured I could do that in New York as easily as Pittsburgh, especially because if I was in New York I  could possibly get some stuff done while Brian went through the whole routine. Besides, every starving artist needs to starve in New York for a little while.

**Melanie’s POV**

Lindsay came back saying that Brian and Justin were just waking up (sure, Linds, believe that if it makes you happy) and they’d see us downstairs in a bit. So we brought the kids downstairs and got them breakfast. I told them they could eat in front of the TV. In Brian’s media room. With the white carpet and white leather sofa. I gave them purple grape juice.

It was that or the kitchen table, and I personally wasn’t ever going to eat there again.

Lindsay sat looking down into her coffee cup. “I can’t believe Brian didn’t tell us Justin was going to be here.”

“Maybe he didn’t know.”

“Did they seem happy when you saw them?”

“Lindsay, what part of ‘Brian had his dick up Justin’s ass on the kitchen table’ do you not understand? Yeah, they seemed pretty damn fucking happy to me.”

“We were.” Justin stood in the doorway smiling that grin of his. Blonds. A blessing, or a curse? Most days I really have no idea which it is. I’m wondering if Brian feels the same way.

Although at the moment Brian looked pretty happy. He had come into the room in time to hear Justin say “We were,” and now he smiled and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Justin’s head. “So, the kids drinking grape juice on the white couch. I’m guessing that was Melanie’s contribution to breakfast?”

“Brian.” Lindsay was using her most mommyish voice. “Why didn’t you tell us Justin would be here?”

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know?”

Justin looked smug. “He didn’t know. No idea. Not a clue. I’m a surprise.”

“Well, not totally.” Justin twisted his head back a little and arched his eyebrows at Brian. “I asked Santa to bring you. And here you are.” Brian’s voice got a little bit husky when he said that, and he ducked his head in a sort of Gus-like way. It made me almost like him. And then Justin turned bright red and they both smiled and some kind of biochemical-neurotransmitter-nuclear reaction got going between them, even though neither one of them moved.

That’s when Gus looked up from his video game and saw Brian, and hurtled himself at him shrieking “ _Daddy_!” Brian stepped out from behind Justin in time to intercept the flying mass of energy that was his son – OK, so in addition to the grape juice, I’d given him Cocoa Puffs. Nothing like a six-year-old on a sugar high to remind you that kitchens are for nourishing, healthy family meals, not hot sex. As in, I’ll give Gus the low carb, calm child special tomorrow, if you stay in the bedroom tonight. Is that so hard?

Gus dragged Brian off to help him kill stuff, and Justin went to take his duffel bag, which was still on the kitchen floor, upstairs. Lindsay immediately headed for Brian where he sat on the floor with Gus, while graphic renderings of unspeakable violence were displayed on his high resolution giant screen plasma TV, connected to the latest and most expensive version of PlayStation. Yeah, Brian’s white-carpeted media center had every electronic childhood dream imaginable. See what I mean about the complete dick thing not being the whole Brian? But this touching scene of fatherly love didn’t stop Lindsay. Blonds. Very single-minded.

“Brian?”

He just kept playing with Gus. I admired him for trying, but the Borgness of Blonds will triumph every time: Resistance really is futile. Obviously, or Gus would never have been conceived and Justin wouldn’t be upstairs putting his socks in Brian’s drawers.

“So, Brian, how long is Justin here for? Is everything okay?” Lindsay said that last in a sweet, sympathetic little voice that I knew would make Brian nuts. I’m guessing she did that on purpose. And it worked. There’s something to be said for twenty years of knowing someone, to figure out where all the strings are tied.

“I’m fine. Wonderful. The rest is none of your business. Now, Gus and I have stuff to kill here.”

Gus screamed and yelled “Pow! Pow! Die!” as he dismembered some sort of multi-armed, scaled creature with machine gun belts across its chest.

I decided to take pity on Brian. “Linds, hon, can you take Jenny while I grab a shower? And maybe she needs to change; she has grape juice on her shirt.”

Lindsay didn’t seem to notice I was trying to distract her. I’m pretty sure Brian did, because he never did get on my case about the grape juice stain on his white leather sofa. And I’m guessing he must have turned the cushion back over and seen it at some point.

**Justin’s POV**

The first step in my plan was an email campaign. Words are always chancey with Brian, so I didn’t use any. When I got my laptop hooked up at Daphne’s friend Paul’s place in New York, I just sent Brian a blank email. No subject line, no message. A half hour later he sent a blank reply. I’d thought the most likely thing was that he’d ignore it, with a very small chance he’d write back something like, “Did you know this email was blank?" So far, things were going better than expected.

The next day I woke up on the lumpy sofa in the hallway between the bedrooms and kitchen that passed for a living room in this place. Everyone who lived there was getting ready for work or school, five people counting me, one bathroom. I waited until everyone was done, trying to sleep in the middle of the chaos, and finally got in there to piss. I shifted finding a place to live much higher on my priority list. And I was so pissed off at Brian I got up, hooked up my laptop, and wrote a long, ranting email to him telling him what a shit he was for letting me do this. Then I deleted it all, backspaced out the subject line, and sent him another blank email.

I didn’t check my email until that night, but his reply was time stamped about four minutes after I’d sent mine.

The next three weeks were for shit. All I did was look for a job, something, anything other than busing or waiting tables, and try to find somewhere to live besides crashing with Paul and his three disgusting roommates. There may have been a lot of things wrong with living with Brian, but plates of blue mold in the fridge and cockroaches weren't among them. Although I later found out even rich people have cockroaches in New York.

After a few depressing days, I called a guy Michael and I knew who helped us distribute Rage. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he lived in New York. He didn’t, but he used to, and he gave me a few numbers to try, for some graphics work. One of them was the art director at an advertising agency, which made me laugh to think about it. I could put Brian down as a reference.

I ended up working for a magazine about all kinds of games, like video games and online games. Very graphics-intensive. They chewed through artists and art students pretty fast, because the working conditions and pay both sucked, but it was a job, it was more or less in my field, and it didn’t involve bringing people congealed gravy on a slab of meatloaf. They also didn’t give a shit if I stayed late and used the computers and the space to do my own work, as long as I didn’t consume company resources other than light, heat, and electricity. And coffee. There was no way to do any painting, but at least I could work on a few things and use their superfast wireless internet connection and hot graphics software.

The next week, I moved into a place about six blocks from where I worked, when one of my co-workers finally had enough and went back home to Iowa or Idaho or wherever the fuck she came from. I took over her old room in a shared apartment. I was still living with four other people, but I actually had my own room. It wasn’t spacious and it wasn’t filled with light, but it also wasn’t two thousand dollars a month.

Every day, no matter what was going on, I sent Brian a blank email, and got one back in reply. Then when I was in the middle of moving I went three days without being able to do email, and when I signed on, along with all the ads for V!aghra and a college degree, was an email with no subject line, from Brian. I sat there in my over-priced, under-ventilated apartment with my friends the cockroaches, and hit “reply” with a big smile on my face. I filled in the subject line, “I miss you too,” and wrote a long account of why I hadn’t been online in three days, and then erased the whole thing, deleted the subject line, and sent a blank reply.

What’s the point of having a plan if you don’t stick with it?

**Melanie’s POV**

By the time I was done with my shower and Lindsay had gotten Jenny changed out of her purple-splotched romper (god, the names they give baby clothes) and into something fresh and new for her to spill stuff on, Lindsay seemed to have lost interest in torturing Brian. We took the kids outside to burn off some of Gus’ sugary goodness, and Lindsay took him out to the swing set Brian had set up on a remote corner of the property where no one could possibly see it unless they were looking for it. See? Not a total dick. Like I said.

I was sitting on a bench watching Lindsay and Gus playing, Jenny sleeping on my lap.

“Mind if I draw the two of you?” It was Justin, his nose pink from the cold, sketchpad in hand.

“Nope, but I suggest you draw fast, because she’s going to wake up in about four minutes.” He laughed and sat down on a rock placed decoratively under a tree, and started sketching rapidly.

“How’s the hand?”

Justin barely glanced up. “It’s fine, provided I don’t push it. It’s easier to paint than to draw.” He looked at Jenny and me again, eyes unfocused, and then back at his sketchpad. Every now and then he rotated his wrist, seemingly without noticing he was doing it. I looked down at Jenny and wondered what I’d feel, if what happened to Justin were to happen to her. Or to Gus.

“What’s Brian doing? Bleaching the kitchen table?”

Justin laughed. “I’m not sure. He was mumbling something about searching the cupboards for all signs of high carbohydrate, high fructose corn syrup-sweetened snacks, or foods with sugar in them, and flushing it all down the toilet.”

OK, I laughed. “I may have overdone it with the Cocoa Puffs.”

We sat there for a while, him sketching, me just looking at Lindsay and Gus over on the swings. Jenny slept past the four minute mark and showed no signs of waking up. Justin shifted a little, and stopped drawing. But he kept looking at the sketch, and kind of hesitated before he said, “It was really hard for me to figure out how to keep things going with Brian. Long distance is hard for, you know, normal people. Brian’s not normal. I’m guessing you’ve noticed that.”

“I actually find Brian and I get along best, long distance.”

Justin got up. “Never mind, Mel, I thought maybe you would understand, but just forget it.”

Then I thought, oh great, now Justin’s going to do that quivery lip thing. It worked on me when he was 17, I’d have sworn it wouldn’t work now, but maternal hormones fucked me. Pink lip vibrating just a little, then he caught it in his teeth, perfect country club WASP-white teeth, just like Lindsay’s. And then he turned and started to go down the path, back to the house.

“Justin, wait.” He stopped and turned around, his eyes full of tears. Lindsay had obviously taught him how to cry on cue, or maybe it’s something they teach in blond school. Why even try? We’re all doomed.

“Maybe if you dropped the cryptic shit and just said in plain English what’s on your mind, I’d have some fucking clue what you want. I know that living with Brian all these years has probably destroyed your ability to communicate in complete sentences containing complex expressions of human need and emotion, but set your inner lesbian free and see if you can tell me What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.”

He stood on the path for a minute, and I thought he was debating lying to me. I’m not the greatest litigator in the world, but I have a fairly good sense of when I’m being lied to. Then something in his face shifted and cleared, and I knew he was going to tell me the truth.

“Mel, it was your idea to move to Canada, right? I mean, you convinced Lindsay?”

“Yeah, but what does that…”

“OK, so why did you do it? To keep your family safe, right? To raise your kids somewhere they’d be safe and your family would be protected?”

I just nodded. Sometimes it seems crazy that I thought that, other times I still feel like I didn’t run far enough. Damn my Jewish grandparents and childhood nightmares of not getting out soon enough, or going to the wrong place.

“And you were sure it was the right thing to do, for you and for Linds and JR and Gus, right? So nothing was going to stop you. Well, Brian made up his mind that the only way I was going to be happy as a human being and an artist was to go to New York. And I’m going to guess I don’t have to explain to you that getting in the way of Brian and something he’s made up his mind on is not a winning strategy.”

“Are you saying you didn’t want to go?” I couldn’t believe that. He went to New York and he didn’t want to go?

Justin kicked at some icy gravel in the path. “Well, I wouldn’t have gone now. I wouldn’t have gone the way I did.”

I sat there for a few minutes, thinking. Since Justin was seventeen years old, he’d been living his life in an elliptical orbit around Brian. It had been almost six years, though. With some ditzy airhead co-dependent mall chick, I’d figure staying six years with your older narcissistic boyfriend who you fell in love with in high school is a sign that you’re messed up. But Justin was smart and tough under the blond-haired, blue-eyed, pink-lipped thing. That wasn’t Justin’s story. Which meant it wasn’t the story I’d pretty much believed for the last six years. It’s hard sometimes when you meet people when they’re kids, to ever really know them when they’re grown up. Gus is always going to be six years old to me.

Justin had gone back to his rock and was doodling in his sketchpad.

“Can I see what you did of Jenny and me?”

He handed the sketchpad over, opening it to the drawing. It was … unbelievable. It was as far removed from the drawing he’d done of Lindsay and Gus when he was seventeen as a cheap hotel room landscape painting from an art fair was from something in one of Lindsay’s expensive galleries. Six years is a long time.

“Why did you go? I mean, Brian couldn’t actually force you to go.”

“He kind of can. No, obviously I could have stayed. But he’d have just been stubborn and shitty and tried to make me hate him. You know him, Melanie. I know Lindsay and Michael don’t believe he does this crap, but you have to know how he is.”

“Manipulative.”

“Well, yeah, but he really does have good intentions.”

I snorted. “Yeah, Justin, tell yourself that while he drags you down the road to hell. OK, OK, I didn’t mean it.” Snarking about Brian is one of my favorite hobbies. But I like to think it’s not an actual addiction.

“So I figured the easiest thing to do, the only logical thing to do, was to go. And try to figure out some way to keep him from, I don’t know, going all drama queen on me about our relationship. So, I came up with a plan.”

I laughed. A scheming blond. Imagine that. “Which was what, exactly?”

“No phone calls. We tried that in California and it was fucked. No emails telling him I missed him or telling him I love him, no trying to convince him that I needed to come back, no trying to convince him to come to New York. Nothing he could argue against, because I just walked away from the argument. Just a sort of weird thing with daily blank emails, and every now and then, I turn up on his doorstep so we can fuck.”

I had to hand it to the kid. “I don’t think we’ve met. Who the fuck are you?”

Justin laughed. “Author of the Kinney Operating Manual.”

“I thought that was Michael.”

“No, he wrote Brian Kinney for Dummies. The actual technical specs, those are mine.”

“Is it working?”

Justin looked up at me from under his eyelashes, almost flirtatiously, and I suddenly thought: Brian sees this look all the time. Brian is totally fucked. “Yeah, seems to be. I’m kind of proud of it. And I don’t want it fucked up.”

“How many times have you been back, since you left?”

“Ummm, six.”

“Here at the house?”

He shrugged. “Here, the loft, once we went to a hotel. I’m usually only here for the weekend.”

“And you never tell him you’re coming? He’s always there when you show up?”

“So far.”

Yeah, Brian’s so fucked. I mean, really. I’m not even sure Justin knows how totally fucked Brian is. I know Lindsay doesn’t. In fact, out of all the people in the world who could know, I’m thinking I might be the only one who does. There has to be something I can do with that.

**Justin’s POV**

The first time I came back to visit, I considered letting Brian know I was coming, but I was fairly sure he’d manage to be out of town or be fucking someone else when I walked in the door. The sneak attack had always worked really well on him, so I went with it.

I came up the stairs so the elevator noise wouldn’t alert him. I used my key and walked in. The lights were on but at first I didn’t see him, and then I turned around and he was sitting at the computer, looking at me with absolutely no expression on his face. Well, that was a good sign; that’s the look he gets when he’s delirious with joy. Of course, it’s also the look he gets when he’s about to explode with rage, but I was going to go with the good news until forced not to. Life with Brian doesn’t make you an optimist so much as it forces you to become extremely used to working without a net.

He was sitting in his desk chair, his legs angular and apart, his hands interlaced and resting on his stomach. I dropped my duffel bag, walked up to him, and stood between his legs.

“Hey,” I said. I’m an extremely brilliant conversationalist.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he replied. OK, not the warmest welcome you can imagine but better than “Get the fuck out,” right?

I smiled down at him. “I need to get fucked.”

“You couldn’t get fucked in New York?”

“All the guys in New York are bottoms.” Brian quirked a smile, then bit it off his lips. But I’d already seen it, and he knew it. Justin wins again.

His legs fell a little open around me, and I put my hands on his shoulders and bent down and put my mouth right next to his ear. For a second I just breathed in his smell, and felt a little spark jump between us across the tiny gap between my lips and his skin. “You know what else they don’t have in New York?”

“What’s that?” he asked, eyes closing.

“Showers. They have no showers at all. I haven’t had a shower since I left.”

“Is that what that smell is?”

I stepped back from him and said, with my sunshiniest smile, “Want to help me get really really clean?”

I turned and went into the bathroom, leaving him sitting at his desk. I turned on the water, and when it was hot enough, I stripped and got in, and started counting to five. Brian was there in three. “So, you need some help with this? Kind of forgotten how to wash?” He was behind me, his hands on my shoulders. I leaned back into him, my eyes closed and my arms straight down at my sides. I didn’t say anything.

Brian reached out for the shampoo and squirted some into his hands, and then started to slowly lather up my head. His fingers dug into my scalp and worked the soap around, and I realized I’d been fighting a small headache, maybe for days. He worked his fingers down to the base of my skull, probing and massaging, and then slicked the lather down onto my neck and shoulders. His thumbs were digging in either side of my spine, and I relaxed against his chest. He ran his hands up again onto my shoulders, and then down my arms, and then he held me under the water so the shampoo ran off me, pouring down my body in streams.

He filled his palms with liquid soap and started back on my shoulders again. The soap was less sudsy than the shampoo but slicker. His left hand moved down my chest, spreading the soap everywhere, under my arms and across my abdomen, while his right hand did the same on my back, stopping just above the swell of my ass. Then he got more soap, and moved both his hands down my back, and generously soaped my ass and hips, and the insides of my thighs. I thought I knew where this was going, but he stopped and rinsed me again, holding me under the shower head until the water ran off clear. Brian pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered, “I think you’re going to need me to lick you clean. The shower isn’t enough for your advanced state of urban grime.”

“Good idea.”

“I don’t normally have bad ideas.”

I might have argued, but that might have stopped him from licking me. He was trailing his tongue down the back of my neck, biting and kissing right where my neck curves into my shoulders. I knew he was leaving bite marks. Then he slid his hands up my sides, under my arms, lifting them up, and started to lick my armpits. I laughed a little, and turned my head and caught him smiling. There was a look on his face, a look I almost never saw, like something really good was happening, that he never thought would.

Then he caught me looking at his eyes. And they changed. And got dark and locked onto mine. I felt suddenly like all the air in the shower had been replaced with steam. Neither of us moved. We just stood there in the heavy wet air, waiting for something.

After a minute he dropped his forehead down and touched mine. I turned around and wrapped my arms around him, burying my head in the space between his neck and shoulder, because I didn’t want him to know I was on the edge of crying. And if he’d said he’d thought I was never coming back, I swear, I was going to knee him in the groin.

“Justin.” That was all he said, but the way he said it made me want to crawl inside of him and never come out. I started kissing him frantically, holding his head between my hands and sucking on his tongue, then kissing him on his face and jaw and neck. I bit his throat. Brian doesn't like marks in places someone might see, but for once, he didn’t seem to care. Or notice.

His hands were resting on my waist, and suddenly he lowered them to my hips and tightened his grip, pulling me in close, his cock digging into my stomach. I went up on my toes and pulled his head down onto my shoulder, putting one hand between us and trying to grasp both our cocks and rub them together, but he was holding me too close. Kissing and licking and biting my neck.

“Brian, Brian please. Come on. Now.” I wasn’t even sure what I was begging him for.

He didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to have heard me. I tried to drop to my knees, but he moved his hands and gripped my upper arms, pulling me back up to his face, kissing me frantically. I felt his breath in my mouth, his tongue running along my teeth and then playing with my tongue. I was glad his grip on my arms was so fierce, even if it left bruises, because without him holding me up, I’d have fallen.

He shut off the water with one hand, and pulled me out of the shower and dried me with a towel, then dried himself. I draped my arms over his shoulders and just leaned on him. I felt boneless. He put the towel over my head and rubbed, and a hundred memories of this exact moment poured into my brain all at once. I suddenly hated the bathroom, the loft, even the towels. It seemed like I’d been leaving and coming back to this place all my life, without ever just being able to stay and be home. Fuck. Tears. Brian was so going to hate this.

And then I looked up at him, letting the towel fall to the floor. He said “Justin” again, and then folded both his lips inward, hard. And then he gently kissed my eyes, and touched his tongue to my lashes. And then he kissed me again, his mouth so open it must have hurt him. Like he wanted to eat me. And I thought, fuck crying. And I pulled him into the bedroom and onto the bed, on top of me, my legs going up to wrap around his waist, lifting my hips up, showing him what I had come all this way for. Him inside me.

His cock was lying in the crack of my ass, and he was rubbing it back and forth, kissing my mouth, hands twisted hard in my hair. He pulled away for a minute, and my wet face felt cold as the air brushed over it. He handed me the condom and I put it on him, my hands shaking a little. He reached out again, this time for the lube, and slicked his fingers with it, then slid his hand down between my legs and touched, just very lightly touched, my hole. I felt my pulse beating against his finger, and then felt my asshole open up and his finger slip inside, swirling around in me, making me open up even more. He slipped in a second finger and gently lapped at me, and I felt myself relaxing around him, getting softer, my pulse still beating with that same rhythm.

I looked at his face, bent over me, eyes half-closed, lips parted just a little. I clenched him tighter with my legs, moaning and pushing against his fingers, wanting more, wanting his cock, wanting him. I tried to tell him but I absolutely couldn’t get any words out. Not even his name.

But he breathed mine, “Justin,” as he pulled his fingers back, and pressed the head of his cock against my hole, and waited for that pulse beat to open to him again, and then inside, just a little. Then pause again. Then my pulse again, and I opened up again, and he slid in deeper. And held there, waiting. And I opened all the way up to him and rocked up to get him deeper and he pulled out and thrust back in. He was holding himself off me with his arms, and I reached up for him with my mouth, biting at his jaw and his neck and shoulders, turning my head and kissing his arms and any bit of him I could reach, while his cock drove in and out of me, filling me up and stretching me out in that way that felt like Brian, Brian inside me, like no one else ever felt.

Sometimes we could fuck for what felt like hours, but not that night. I was surprised at how soon Brian’s breathing got rapid and shallow, and his motion faster, hitting my prostate with every thrust, not trying to hold me back or slow me down, but trying to bring me with him, and fast. I had my legs locked around his back and my arms locked around his neck, and he was bent over me and kissing me, my neck and shoulders, biting at me, and then he pulled his right arm back and grabbed my cock and started jerking me off, letting me fuck his fist while he fucked my ass.

I started to come, and my ass spasmed around his cock and he groaned, once, loudly, and then buried his face in my neck and bit me. I wanted him to always fuck me and bite me and moan that way, and say my name, and make me come just like this, my ass locking down on him, my cock wet and slippery in his hand, my come everywhere between us. And then he held still, and let himself fall onto me, and I unlocked my arms and legs and lay under him, feeling my pulse and my heart beating, and his beating heart against my chest.

I was stroking his damp hair softly. He had rolled slightly off to the side, his arm and leg still thrown over me, his head tucked onto my shoulder, but his weight on the mattress. Every few minutes he’d press a kiss into my neck, on the sore spot where his teeth had clamped down on me when he came. I smiled a little bit and he lifted his head and looked at me, and smiled back.

“So, what are you really doing here?” But he was smiling.

“Shhhh. Go to sleep. No talking.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Justin?”

I just kissed his forehead. Hoping he’d take a hint. Having this discussion? Not part of my plan.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
****  
Plans, Chapter Two  
by Xie

 _Always have a plan, and believe in it. Nothing happens by accident._ – Football coach Chuck Knox

**Melanie’s POV**

So, don’t get the idea that I’m softening on Brian. First of all, he’s still a dick. Second of all, the sheer number of people in my life who think Brian Kinney walks on water is getting to me. Like, someday I’m going to figure out why I thought that having a wife who was his number one fan wasn’t enough, I had to have his best friend be Jenny’s father. Serious lapse in judgment. Fucking maternal hormones.

It was Christmas Eve, and Michael and Ben were coming for lunch. We were supposed to go to Debbie’s for Christmas dinner the next day, but Brian and Justin wouldn’t say if they were going to go with us or not. Every time Lindsay would ask, they’d look at each other for one silent beat, and then one or the other would say, “We’ll see.” It was driving Linds insane. I was kind of digging that.

“You should go for Gus.”

Brian looked at her like she was insane. “Lindsay, do you think this tree, these lights, and that pile of wrapped shit is for _me_? It’s _all_ for Gus. And he isn’t going to give a fuck if I’m at Debbie’s for dinner or not, once he finishes unwrapping all that stuff.”

Michael and Ben rang the doorbell then, so we kind of cut off the conversation. Gus was upstairs napping but Jenny was awake and bouncing around in her little fluffy outfit, I refuse to use words like “snuggy” to describe my daughter’s clothing anymore. The whole cute children’s marketing thing is getting out of hand. She’s a human being, not a stuffed bunny, for fuck’s sake.

“Is this my little buttercup?” Michael was holding out his arms for Jenny.

“I’m trying to get how a guy who writes an x-rated underground comic book about a gay superhero who gets blowjobs on the cover is calling our daughter ‘Buttercup.’ _Buttercup_? Where the fuck does that come from?”

Michael laughed. “Blowjobs on the cover aren’t my department; you’ll have to ask Justin about that.”

“Ask me what?”

“ _Justin_!”

Justin came into the room, smiling. I doubt I’d have normally noticed, but it struck me that this wasn’t the full-wattage ray of light smile. Justin was faking it.

And then he caught sight of Brian across the room and something inside him lit up. Instant sunshine. How many times must I have seen that, and thought, “Oh god, I’m going to throw up, when is he going to get over this stupid crush on Brian?” Crush? OK, I thought, I’m getting it now; this is the world’s longest running crush. I was starting to think we were in Princess Bride territory. You know. True love.

While Ben and Michael greeted Justin, I looked over at Lindsay, but she wasn’t even watching him. And even if she had been, I don’t think she’d have seen it the way I did. And I wondered if that happened a lot, if it happened with me, that sometimes I didn’t see her, either. If Justin went to New York even though he didn’t want to, because he didn’t know how to resist Brian’s plans, did Lindsay go to Toronto with me for the same reason? Didn’t Justin all but say that?

Shit, didn’t Justin say exactly that?

“You look perplexed.” It was Ben, holding Jenny.

“Did you want me to take her?”

“Nope, she’s fine with me.” He sat down on the couch next to me, and shifted her so she could see me. I put my finger into her little fist. “I just looked over at you and you have this look on your face, like you’re contemplating the meaning of existence. Or just realized you forgot to buy a present for someone.”

“No. I was just thinking. Were you surprised to see Justin?”

“No. Those two can’t ever stay apart long.”

“I only figured that out yesterday.”

Ben looked at me, surprised. “Yesterday? Mel, they’ve been together for almost six years. You just noticed yesterday?”

“You weren’t around for year one or you’d never say that.”

“Year one was a long time ago. Good thing you took another look.”  
     
 **Justin’s POV**

The weird freaking thing about being there with everyone at Christmas was, this was the first time I’d been with Brian when there were other people around since I left for New York. And I wasn’t liking it much. Too many variables to potentially fuck with my plan.

My first weekend sneak attack at the loft had been a success. I had to leave Sunday afternoon when the girl I’d shared gas and driving with had to go back to New York, but Brian and I spent the whole 32 hours we had together just fucking and sleeping and showering. And the only conversation we had could have been carried out with a vocabulary of not much more than “Please, harder, c’mon, feel like Thai?” I think Brian was actually starting to feel the first stirrings of curiosity as to what exactly I was up to, just before I left.

When I got back to New York, I checked my laptop for email.

I had twelve emails from Brian. All blank. I sent twelve blank replies. Really, I liked this better than if it had been a dozen fucking roses. I could see him sitting at his computer in the empty loft, still smelling like me and sex, and sending those emails. And then just when he finished the twelfth, wishing there was a way to unsend them.

For the first time since Brian decided I was going to New York, it might have finally crossed his mind that I gave in way too easy. 

So the thing was, I didn’t want to mess that all up, now that all these people were around again. Like I said, too many variables.

“You’re here.”

I looked up. Michael. Looking pretty confused.

“Hey! Merry Christmas. Jenny looks great.”

His face softened. Michael’s easy. “Yeah, she’s pretty cute.” He’s right. Mel storms around all butch and mean when you say it, but Jenny is the cutest damn baby. Seriously, deadly cute.

“I was really surprised to see you. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were coming?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” I smiled. Brightly.

“Yeah, well it was. Surprise for Brian, too? He didn’t say anything about you being here. I was just wondering what was up, what got you here out of the blue.”

OK. Brian and I had gone out of our way at every possible opportunity to hide the fact that we were seeing each other from Michael and everyone else. Hell, I wasn’t too sure Brian realized we were seeing each other. But I was here now, so maybe it was time.

“This is the sixth time I’ve been here, and Brian’s been to New York twice. It’s not out of the blue.”

“Motherfuck.”

I laughed, although it was sort of forced. “OK, I know you want to protect him from everything, Michael. And seriously, if it means keeping him from driving drunk or, you know, jumping off a tall building, go for it. But really, you don’t ever have to protect him from me.”

Michael didn’t say anything, which was kind of a change for him. Maybe Ben was rubbing off on him. Maybe Ben had a plan too. I watched Mikey think for a while, and then I looked away. Brian was sitting with Lindsay on the floor, near the tree, and they were talking. It made me nervous. Too many things going on that could fuck with my plan.

**Melanie’s POV**

Michael came over, but just then Jenny started to fuss. I took her from Ben and went upstairs to change her, unbuttoning her snuggy cuddly romperette whateverthefuck and putting on a fresh new diaper with nauseating little ducks on it. Someone could make a fortune marketing non-cutesy clothes and stuff for the children of cynics and people with taste.

“Do you think she wants a nap?” It was Lindsay at the door. Her blonde hair was in a neat twist and it was shining under the overhead light, and she smiled at me. It seemed real. I didn’t see any shadows.

“Linds, do you know Justin and Brian have been seeing each other all along, ever since Justin left?”

She looked startled. “They have? But… everyone told me they hadn’t been in touch. Brian never mentioned him, and when I asked him if he’d heard from Justin, he always just said he was sure Justin was fine.”

“That surprises you?” I buttoned up Jenny’s pants and started putting her little shoes back on.

Lindsay went over and sat on the bed. She frowned. I was thinking maybe I should have gotten her a copy of _Brian Kinney for Dummies_ for Christmas.

“Justin said he’s been here six times.”

“Six times?” Lindsay looked confused, and slightly irritated. “No one ever said a word, not Brian, not Debbie or Michael. Six times?”

“I don’t think anyone knew. I think they were sort of flying under the radar.” Actually, I think Justin was even flying under Brian’s radar.

When exactly did I start having theories about other people's relationships? Maternal hormones. I couldn’t fucking wait for them to wear off.

**Justin’s POV**

Even though I told Brian the night before I left that we’d see each other all the time, when he came back with some bullshit about the nature of time and the universe, I knew he’d started writing this as a tragedy. There wasn’t any point in arguing with him, so I didn’t. That’s the whole thing about the plan. I needed one, because normal stuff just doesn’t work with Brian.

So, after a few weeks of blank emails and a couple of visits to Pittsburgh to shower, fuck, and eat Thai takeout (there’s no Thai food in New York, either), I was contemplating what to do next, sitting at my desk at work hitting my front tooth with a pencil. Don’t ask me why I do that when I think, it just seems to help. I was trying to figure out how to get Brian’s ass to New York without, of course, talking to him. I was mentally testing out an idea about a show I was in the next month.

I’d gotten into a shared studio space through an artists’ collective that Kalli, one of the other graphic artists at work, was part of, and had managed to get three of my paintings into their next show – thanks to a few shameless mentions of the ArtForum article. It wasn’t the biggest deal on earth but it was my first show since I got there.

So, I was hitting on my front tooth and mentally flipping through the Kinney Operating Manual, looking for the chapter on “Getting Brian to Come to New York.” After briefly considering stealing his credit card and threatening to become a go-go dancer in Chelsea, I made up my mind. I wasn’t going to fuck with the email thing, it was working too well. I wasn’t going to call him, because California had taught me that Brian Kinney doesn’t do phone conversations. I was going to Pittsburgh. I wasn’t totally sure what I was going to do once I got there, but what the fuck. There can be such a thing as too much planning.

Forty-two hours, six orgasms, four showers, zero conversation, and way too much Pad Thai later, I was back on my way to New York and there was a flyer about the show on Brian’s kitchen counter.

I wasn’t sure he’d come.

But he did.

I was standing with Kalli and two other artists from the collective when he came in the door. I saw him first, but he saw me a second later. I remembered my first show, how I’d pretended not to care that he was there. And the show at Lindsay’s gallery in Pittsburgh, when we’d been broken up, how we’d acted so cool around each other. So since I was all about trying new shit with him, I walked right up to him and kissed him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I’ve never missed one of your shows.”

“Yeah, this is only the third one in six years.”

“And I’ve been at all three.”

“In fact, I don’t think the first one counted.”

“I count it.” And then he kissed me. Hard.

We went back to Kalli and I introduced him to her and the others. Since I’d never mentioned Brian to anyone, I guess they were all sort of curious as to who the fuck he was. I didn’t enlighten them, but Brian wouldn’t let go of my hand so I’m guessing they figured it out. We looked at my work, then Kalli’s, and then Brian went off to look at everything else, while I talked to a guy Kalli thought I should meet. He’d read about me in ArtForum, he had a gallery, and he even knew Sidney Bloom, who ran Lindsay’s old gallery.

“How are you liking New York?”

“Expensive. Lots of great art. Too many cockroaches.”

He laughed. “Greatest city in the world. Just ask the cockroaches.”

Brian came up behind me at that moment. I knew it even before he lightly touched the small of my back. I introduced the two of them and the gallery owner walked off after a minute. Brian smiled at me. “Your stuff is the best.”

“You’re biased.”

“No, I’m not. I’m biased in that I’d want your stuff to be the best. I’m not biased in knowing it actually is.” Asshole. I’m smiling like some fucking idiot. In front of everyone.

**Melanie’s POV**

When I got back downstairs with Jenny, who was determined not to nap, Brian and Michael had disappeared and Justin and Ben had gone into the kitchen. I went into the living room with its roaring fire and fifty billion Christmas lights and tree and garland and mountain of presents, all courtesy of Emmett’s party planning business and designed carefully to make a child’s heart glad and not offend Brian’s pissy uber-cool sensibilities. Hard to imagine Emmett could tread that line, but he did. Lindsay was upstairs trying to wake Gus up from his nap before lunch. Maybe I’d cut the breakfast carbs back a little too much.

After a few minutes, she came downstairs with Gus, and Brian and Michael came back in, giggling and shoving each other. Great, three six-year-olds. Merry fucking Christmas, Melanie Marcus. And yes, Gus and Jenny, your daddies are stoned.

Justin and Ben came in with a huge plate of brownies, and Gus went racing over and got like, eight of them. Lindsay promptly put seven back on the plate and broke the remaining one in half. She’s such a good mom. That or Brian threatened her with bodily harm and withdrawal of affection if Gus started bouncing off the walls again.

Justin plonked down on the sofa next to me and I shoved Jenny into his arms. He laughed and started making revoltingly adorable faces at her, and I decided I needed a brownie. And a drink. There were limits on how much cuteness I could take in any given day, and I usually exceeded them by the time I’d changed Jenny’s morning diapers and snapped her poopsiette back up.

I was pouring myself a shot of Brian’s best scotch when I noticed Lindsay was staring at the sofa in what looked like shock. I turned and almost dropped the glass. Brian was sitting next to Justin and Jenny – fuck, he was draped around Justin and Jenny, holding her little hand and making faces at her while Justin leaned into him and laughed. And then Brian kissed Justin on the top of his head.

I knocked back the shot and poured another. Somebody had to get a look at the latest edition of the Kinney Operating Manual, I had an idea Justin had been fucking around with it and nobody had a fucking clue.

Fortunately for my sanity, Brian was his usual dickish self at lunch, making fun of Michael for bringing some Debbie-esque jello thing and Ben for bringing something repellant with soba noodles. How festive. He even made fun of Justin for eating half a turkey, and as he got drunker his sense of humor got stupider and stupider, and I began to see how he and Mikey got so close in high school. Nothing against Mikey, he’s Jenny’s dad and I actually love him to death, but he’s, you know, a comic book geek who can spend quality time with Gus without dumbing down his entertainment choices. I’m just saying.

After dinner Brian and Mikey disappeared again, and the rest of us went into the living room. Ben got butch and poked up the fire and put on more logs, and Lindsay and I settled on the sofa with Jenny. Justin took Gus over to the mountain of presents and started sorting them into piles, the one identified as Gus’ pile reaching somewhere near the ceiling by the time they were done. Ben sat in the chair near the sofa, a glass of wine in his hand. “So, how are you liking the mansion?”

Lindsay answered, “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe it’s Brian’s, it’s so unlike him.” Granted, parts of it were opulent in a way not like Brian’s loft, but he was a pleasure slut and this place was gorgeous and comfortable. And you just had to spend two minutes in his precious media room to know you were in Brian’s territory.

Ben smiled and said he’d been looking forward to seeing it.

“You’ve never been here before?”

“No. Not until now. Not me and not even Michael.”

“I’d be glad to give you the tour when Michael gets back,” Justin offered. He’d walked up behind us with a bottle of wine. You can take the bus boy out of the diner but you can’t take the diner out of the bus boy. Or whatever. The wine was a hell of a lot better than the diner coffee. I wondered if I was drunk.

“This isn’t your first time here, I take it?” Ben, making polite chit chat while probably wondering where his husband had gotten to with Brian. Or maybe not. Ben seemed extremely relaxed. Or maybe he was drunk too.

Justin looked smug. “No, not quite. I own this house with Brian. I’ve been here lots of times.”

The stoner daddies came falling into the room at that point, and Brian detached himself from Michael’s grasp and came over to Justin. He pulled the bottle of wine out of Justin’s hand, and took a big drink and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Want some?” he asked Justin with a big smile. He looked so relaxed and happy.

Justin squirmed out of his arms and took the bottle away, laughing. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough. One of us has to be able to drive tonight.”

Brian looked at Justin, head tipped to the side, confusion on his face. “But we’re already here. Drive where?” Justin just patted him on the back. Brian got the happy stoned look back and pulled Justin to him and gave him a big wet kiss.

“Brian?” Linds had great timing. Stoned, drunk, and making out with Justin. Perfect moment to start a conversation. Some of what they say about blondes is true.

“Huh?” He answered without unlocking his mouth from Justin’s. This guy is a sex god? Michael is a seriously bad influence on Brian. Although Michael seemed to have disappeared with Gus, presumably to find more brownies and then check out the new PlayStation. It’s nice Gus found a little friend to play with. I decided to provide some adult supervision.

“Linds, sweetie? Gus isn’t here; give me the baby and go see if you can find him.”

After a little while, Michael came wandering back, and told me Lindsay was taking Gus outside for some post-brownie sugar overload therapy. He seemed to have sobered up a little, so I let him take Jenny. He sat down next to me and bounced her a little bit, but she was sleepy and he finally just let her drift off. We sat and stared into the fire.

“So, Justin’s here.”

“Yup. Looks that way.” I shifted toward him, trying to see his face and get an idea of how he felt about that. He looked thoughtful.

“Did you know he’d be here?”

“Not until I walked in on him and Brian fucking their brains out on the kitchen table night before last.”

Michael rubbed his forehead. “OK. Too much information.”

“Is Justin being here a problem?” What the hell. Some of that pro bono work I used to do.

 “Shit, not for me. And Brian’s like floating on air.”

That was probably due to the huge amount of pot and alcohol he’d ingested, but I didn’t say anything.

“Just, you know, weird that they didn’t say anything to us. It’s like they got married after all.” Bingo.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it.” And I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. I can be nice sometimes. I mean, he’s Jenny’s father.

**Justin’s POV**

Things had started veering a little bit off plan the next time I went to Pittsburgh after the show. When I let myself into the loft he wasn’t there, but he came in an hour or so later. I was sitting at the table with my laptop, playing with some new software I’d been trying out. He must have known I was there because the alarm was off and the lights were on, but he didn’t look around right away. Then he did, and saw me, and I smiled at him. He looked tired. “Hey.”

“Needed a shower?”

I got up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body to him. “You’re tense.”

“I had a shitty day. A shitty week.”

This was pretty much more conversation than we’d had since I’d started visiting, but I suddenly got tired of the whole not talking thing. “What’s going on?”

Brian sighed, and put his arms around me and dropped his head down onto mine. I felt his body lean into me and he let out a breath. “Just boring crap.”

He pressed his lips into my hair. I stepped back and took his hands and pulled him into the bedroom. “You need a blowjob.” He laughed.

“Is that what I need?” I just silently undressed him, and then myself, laying each piece of clothing down carefully when I took it off, but not stepping away from him until we were both naked. Fuck, he was beautiful. I must have been licking my lips because I suddenly noticed my tongue was sticking out, and Brian was smirking at me. I pushed him and he fell back on the bed, pulling me with him.

The minute we hit the bed, Brian rolled over on top of me. I spread myself out under him, and he lifted up on his arms and bent down and lightly brushed his lips back and forth on mine. I opened my mouth and reached for him with my tongue, but he pulled back before dropping down and kissing me, open-mouthed and wet. I kept my arms and legs down and spread out, and he slowly started thrusting against me, rubbing our cocks together. We kept kissing, and I couldn’t keep from bringing my arms up and trying to hold his head with my hands, but he broke away from me then.

He stayed over me, never taking his eyes off mine. I had my hands resting on his forearms, and he kept thrusting slowly on top of me, and I started rising up to thrust back at him, my fingers gripping his arms.

He finally broke his gaze and leaned in again and started kissing me, and then his mouth trailed down the side of my face to my jaw and my neck, and he dropped down off his arms and put his whole weight on me. He was lying between my legs, and as he slid down my body, kissing and licking at my chest and my nipples, I felt his heavy cock slip across my cock, and down across my balls and then behind them, and then he moved back up just a little, and I felt the head of his cock at the crack of my ass.

I bent my knees and lifted my hips. And he just froze there.

It’s not like we’d never been in this moment before. It happened all the time. He knew I wanted him inside me bare, I knew he wanted to be there. We both knew we weren’t going to do it, at least, it wasn’t something we were going to decide on when we were naked in bed. But fuck. I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling back just a little more. Arching my back just a little. And he was just breathing and not moving.

Then the moment passed and he moved down lower, kissing my stomach and my hips, passing his warm lips over my cock, touching the slit with his tongue and playing in the wetness there. He moved back up, all the way up, and put his hands on both sides of my face and kissed me.

I slipped my hand behind his head, resting it on his damp neck, touching his hair. He was sliding down my body again, but I didn’t want that now, I wanted him in my mouth, so I tried to roll him over and get on top, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Brian…. I want to suck your cock. C’mon.”

He looked up at me, and smiled. It was almost sweet. “No.” It was all he said, and then he went back to my stomach and dropped kisses all over it, now and then pressing one onto my cock. I squirmed a little, trying to move him over, or to at least move his mouth closer to my dick, but he just laughed and slapped at my thigh lightly.

“Hold still.”

“Jesus, Brian.”

He was licking at my balls and then sucking on them, and I felt him slipping his fingers into his mouth, and I felt my ass involuntarily clench because I knew what he was going to do. He touched my asshole, first with his wet finger, and then with his tongue, and then he snaked his tongue inside, and followed it with his finger, and then swirled his tongue all around his finger and pressed his finger in deeper and then I was just going fucking out of my mind. I grabbed at my cock and he knocked my hand away and moved back up and took it in his mouth, all the way down in one move, while slipping his finger into me and pressing it on my prostate. My whole body jerked up and I felt his throat swallowing around the head of my cock, and his finger fucking my ass.

He pulled his head back and fucked my slit with his tongue, and then took me all the way down in his throat again, and then swallowed around me again, and I was gone. Just absolutely gone, flooding into him and beating my heels on the bed and grabbing his hair in my fists and shouting “Fuck, Brian” over and over.

He came back up my body and brought me a mouthful of my own come and I ate it off his tongue like I was starving, and then I pushed him over and finally got what I’d wanted since he walked in the door, the smell and taste and feel of Brian in my mouth.

I ran my tongue all over the head of his cock. He was so hard the skin barely moved on his shaft, and I tongued the vein running up it, and then took just the head in my mouth, lightly, and his hands reached out for my head and tried to push me down. I looked at him for a minute, and his eyes were closed and his back arched up. Then I just stopped looking or thinking and just blew the fuck out of him, pumping my head down onto him, taking him as deep into my throat as I could, swallowing him, my hands slipping under his ass and lifting him up to my face.

He had one hand in my hair, twisting and pulling at it, and the other back on the wall, and he was writhing under me, covered in sweat. The smell of him was so hot and so familiar, I’d missed it so much, having him in my mouth whenever I wanted him there. I knew he was close, and I moved my hands forward and pulled one out from under him, and started pressing on the space behind his balls, softly. I went all the way down on him and swallowed, and I felt his hand leave my hair and his hips come up off the bed and he shouted something I couldn’t understand, and poured his come down my throat.

We lay there just totally fucked out, him with his shitty day and me with my long trip. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so happy. I only knew it was probably the last time I’d been with him.

This was the hard part of my plan. I felt words boiling up inside me, important stuff like “I love you, I miss you, for fuck’s sake, can’t I come home?”, and all the trivial boring stuff about the day and what we’d be doing that night or the next day, all the little words you waste when you’re together and miss when there’s no one there to talk to.

And I knew, absolutely knew, that trying to put any of this into words was going to completely fuck this up.

It didn’t help that I wasn’t absolutely certain what was in Brian’s head. Most of the time I was pretty sure he knew I was playing him somehow. Other times I wondered if he honestly thought I was coming for showers and sex.

So I didn’t say anything, just kept kissing his neck, running my hand around in circles on his chest.

“Babylon’s re-opening weekend after next.”

I’d sort of fallen asleep, but that woke me up. “That’s great.” I waited to see what came next.

“I thought of asking you to come. But then I had a better idea.”

I lifted up my head and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t come.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t come to the Babylon opening. Being around you with everyone – fucks everything up.” His voice was so soft I could hardly hear him, and he looked like he was still working out what he was trying to say.

I had ten thousand questions and I opened my mouth to start asking them, but instead just said, “OK.”

A long silence. He was playing with my hair. I was glad I didn’t have time to get it cut before I came. Then he put a finger on my lips, and I opened my mouth and sucked it in, lapping it with my tongue.

“The opening’s on a Friday.”

His voice was still impossibly soft, even tentative. I had no idea where he was going with this, so I kept playing with his finger in my mouth. He slipped a second one in.

“You could just come down kind of late, and maybe go out to the house. I could come out there after the party.”

OK. I could do this without falling on him and smothering him with kisses. “Not the loft?”

He pulled me more into his arms, and buried his face in my hair. “The house. More private.”

I swallowed and tried to make my voice sound normal. “Sounds like a plan.”

No shit.


	3. Plans, Interlude

  
  


There was definitely something to be said for flying to Pittsburgh instead of driving, and for being picked up by a car service at the airport. When I settled into the car, I turned my cell phone back on. And smiled. I’d missed a call from Brian. I checked voice mail but he hadn’t left a message. Just the “missed call” notice with his cell number.

I called him, and he actually answered, although the noise in the background was almost louder than his voice.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I’m here.”

“Everything OK?”

“Yup. Later.”

“Later.”

These stimulating intellectual discussions are the foundation of our relationship.

When I got to the house, the outside lights were on, and a few inside lights. I disabled the alarm, went inside and turned it back on. In New York the only alarm I have is the feeling I get when I turn on the kitchen lights at night and see the cockroaches scurrying into hiding, but here in the virtually crime-free Pennsylvania suburbs, we have security worthy of the vice-presidential bunker. I’m surprised Brian didn’t have a laser detection system installed in his lair, otherwise known as Brian’s media room. He and Gus are basically the same age when it comes to toys.

I walked around the house. This was the first time I’d been there alone. Which was funny, because theoretically it was my house. Although it really wasn’t, because I didn’t pay for it, didn’t give much feedback on the remodeling except in the very beginning, and didn’t ever marry Brian. Aren’t you actually supposed to return wedding gifts when you call off the wedding? Even the ones from the guy you didn’t marry? I’d have to check with Emmett on the etiquette of that.

I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, and there was absolutely nothing in it except beer and water. OK. I’m out in the middle of nowhere with no car and no food. I’m going to guess the house was well-stocked with condoms and lube. Call me psychic.

I took a beer and went up to the bedroom. Brian’s bedroom. It’s not like there was just one; there were eight bedrooms. His was, well, it was Brian’s bedroom. Big bed front and center, custom lighting design, huge windows that I knew looked out on a killer view of the property, and a gigantic designer bathroom with a shower bigger than the one at the loft. And I suddenly thought, I wonder if Brian’s ever brought anyone back here. I really didn’t care what he did anywhere else, but I didn’t like the idea of him fucking someone else at our house. Even if we didn’t get married. Even if it’s not really my house.

I finished my beer and set the bottle down on the bedside table. I dropped my bag in the corner and went into the bathroom. I turned on the water, stripped, and got in and let the hot water beat down on me. It was the first time I’d been in that shower without Brian. It was the first shower I’d taken alone in Pittsburgh since moving to New York.

I dried off and carried my clothes out and shoved them in a heap on top of my bag, and crawled into bed. I was still a little damp and shivering, and I pulled the duvet around me tight, winding it around my frozen feet. I should have blown my hair dry, I thought. My teeth were almost chattering.

After a little while, the duvet caught what body heat I had and warmed up the air around my naked skin, and I fell asleep.

I woke up and it was later. I mean it was much later in the night, and it was the “later” when Brian and I were going to see each other, because he was kneeling next to the bed kissing my face. There wasn’t anything else to kiss, because I was wrapped up so tight in the duvet that it felt like a cocoon. I smiled at him and kissed him back, letting my mouth open up and letting his hot tongue lick it all over inside.

“Hey.”

He started pulling at the duvet where it was wrapped under my chin. “Let me in.”

I wriggled a little bit until there was a gap big enough for him to snake his hand in. Brian was naked, kneeling on the floor next to me.

“Aren’t you freezing?”

“That’s why I want you to let me in.” But his hand was warm as it curled around the back of my neck.

I tried to unwind the duvet a little more, rolling away from him, pulling it out from under my hip, and then rolling back. He moved his arm from my neck down between the duvet and my back, and then slid the other arm down in front of me, opening up even more space. He slid himself into the cocoon with me, and his body felt warm, not cold. Even his feet were warm as they slid all over mine. “Just how I like you. All wrapped up tight.”

“How was the opening?”

“Perfect. Beautiful. Dazzling. Packed.”

“OK, you’re high.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t drive out here like that?”

“Nope, got the car service.”

“Mikey’s been replaced as your designated driver?”

“This house is out of Michael’s travel zone. He’s never even been here.” I didn’t know that.

“Well, who has been?” I shouldn’t have asked that. There were answers to that question I wouldn’t want to hear.

Brian kissed my ear and nuzzled into my neck. “The decorator, the plumbers, the contractor, the electricians, the computer guy, the audio-visual equipment guy, the cleaning service, the painters, the furniture delivery people, the lighting guy, and someone who does something known as drywalling, which sounds vaguely like a sex act but appears to be related to construction.”

“None of our friends has been out here?”

Brian shook his head and went back to kissing me. That had been a pretty long speech for Brian when he was horny and high.

We didn’t have much room inside our duvet cocoon, but he was making use of the space we had to rub against my body and lick every inch of my mouth inside and out. Then he was kissing my neck and shoulders, his hips slowly thrusting against mine. I sighed and just enjoyed it, my question about whether Brian had ever brought anyone here to fuck unasked. I worked my arms up and got them around his neck and he started kissing my face and mouth again. He trailed his tongue along my jaw, then down my neck. His lips were dry and warm and his tongue was hot and wet, and he kept taking little bits of my skin into his teeth and biting down gently, and then sucking the skin into his mouth for just a second, and then moving to a new spot. It was making me fucking insane. Every tiny bite seemed to shoot straight down through my skin to my cock, and when he sucked on my skin and pushed into my crotch at the same time, I thought I’d come all over him like a teenager.

I was pushing at the blanket while trying to keep his mouth on me. “I want to get out of this thing.”

“I kind of like being in here with you. It’s all warm and tight, like your ass.”

“You don’t need something warm and tight like my ass, my ass is right here, but you can’t get to it unless we get this thing off.”

“Good point.” He stretched out his long legs, and kicked at the bottom of the duvet, and I felt cold air on my feet. He pushed his legs out, and the duvet opened up more, and then he moved me over onto my back and got on top of me, his arms pushing the cover out on both sides, his chest pressed to mine. “All free. Now let me in the other warm tight place.”

I laughed a little and wrapped my legs around his waist, loosely crossing my ankles and holding him around his neck with my arms. I breathed in Brian’s smell, and suddenly realized that he hadn’t showered and he didn’t smell like sex. I wriggled my toes and tightened my legs around him, but didn’t say anything.

Brian was going crazy on my neck and had slid his hands down my back and around to my hips, and was holding onto me while I tried to angle myself up for him. I unhooked my arm from his neck and reached out and grabbed a condom off the bedside table, and shoved it down into his hand. “C’mon.” He kind of chuckled and took it from me and pulled away a little while he put it on. I let my legs fall down and lie on either side of him, my knees bent. Something about the way he’d said “warm and tight” made me want him in me now. I felt all warm and relaxed and ready.

He reached over for the lube and I held out my hand for it. He poured some into my palm, and I reached down and spread a little in my ass with my fingers, and a lot onto his dick with my hand. And then I wiped my hand on the sheet and got my legs back up around him and reached my hands down and took hold of his ass and pulled him up on me until I felt his cock lying where I wanted it. I reached down with my left hand and put the head right at my opening and tried to push it in. Brian didn’t normally let me get this bossy.

He pulled my hand away from his cock, and then put his cock back at my hole, and moved it in just the tiniest bit. I really was open and ready, and he knew that, and he pulled back and moved into me in one long thrust that stroked right over my prostate going in and pulling out. I grabbed on with my legs even harder, working them further up his back, pressing down on the mattress with my palms, arching my back and rolling my hips up. He moved a little, getting a better angle, and started slamming into me, all the soft kisses and cuddling forgotten for now, just his cock pounding into me as hard as he could pound it, and me grabbing handfuls of sheet in my hands and pushing up to meet him on every thrust, not knowing if I wanted it to last for hours or wanted to fucking come that instant.

I started rocking my hips faster, wanting more and harder and getting it. He was over me on his arms, but now he pulled back, my legs slipping down onto his arms. He reached out and grabbed my hips and pulled them hard toward him while he shoved into me, and I gasped and threw my head back when I felt him hit deeper in me than I’d expected. He stayed kneeling in front of me, my legs up on his shoulders now, his hands on my hips while he drove into me, him pulling me toward him on every thrust. I couldn’t even thrust up anymore, I felt like I was going to explode or cry or scream, and I heard myself moaning and saying things I hoped were “Fuck me, harder, fuck, Brian” and not something I was going to regret later. But I had no idea. I’m surprised I got any words out at all. His cock was pistoning into me and my arms were crossed over my face and I was just going with it, him totally controlling everything, the depth and the rhythm and the speed, because I was just a mindless moaning pile of want and openness under him right then.

He reached out one hand and pushed at my arms. “Want to see you.” He grunted it, really. I opened up my arms and looked at him. His face and body were covered in sweat, the muscles in his chest and arms and abdomen clenching and releasing with every thrust. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, his eyes looking down at mine with something in them I almost couldn’t look at. I wanted to cover my face again but I made myself look at him because he wanted me to. He opened his mouth and swallowed and bit his lip inward, and kept his eyes open and locked onto mine.

He hit me deep and in a way that made me curl up my body and cry out and feel a burn and an explosion inside me that started to pour out of me, I was coming without him even touching my cock, just shooting all over between us and he kept fucking me and now he was kissing me frantic and wet, scraping me with his teeth and moaning into my mouth, and I knew he was coming into the condom and not moving anymore, just making that deep beautiful sound while my ass clenched down on him and I thought fuck fuck fuck I love you.

He lay down hard on me, and I felt his cock still inside me, and his heart pounding against me, and I thought, nothing is as warm as this.

In the morning I woke up all of a sudden, not my usual slow crawl up to consciousness. Brian was still sleeping, curled up behind me, his arms around me and his half-hard cock poking into my backside. The best way I knew to wake up, with Brian all warm and hard next to me.

I slid away from him enough to turn around and look at him. Something about the long line of his body under the duvet, his left arm outstretched as if I were still under it, his head tipped just a little bit to the side exposing his throat, made me crazy to paint. We’d started a studio here, and I’m sure it was finished, but I didn’t have anything here to paint with or on, so I’d have to wait. I slid over off the bed, making as little sound as I could. I went into the bathroom and pissed, and then quietly took my sketchbook and pencil out of my duffle bag, and sat cross-legged at the bottom of the bed and started to draw him.

I suppose if someone ever does a retrospective on the early work of Justin Taylor, they’ll have to devote an entire wing of the museum to drawings of Brian. I drew him when we were together, when we were apart, when he knew I was drawing him, when he was lost in work or sleep and had no idea, when he looked achingly beautiful and when he looked ravaged and lost. I drew him how I saw him, and if anyone ever wants to know how I feel about Brian, it’s all there.

I drew until my hand started to give out, but he was still sleeping. Over the years I’ve learned to stop fighting my hand, and just accept that no matter how much my desire to draw was screaming at me, when my body was done, it was done. There was always that moment of resistance and resentment, but I took a breath and set it aside. I could paint or use my computer, but that flood that came down out of the sky and poured through my hand and onto the paper had to be turned back for a while. There was nothing I could do about it. I knew, because I’d tried everything.

So I put my sketchpad and pencil away, and thought about how hungry I was, and how there wasn’t any food in the house and as far as I knew, we had no car. So I made a decision and climbed onto the bed and bounced right up to his face and said “Brian! Wake up! I’m going to STARVE!”

He opened his eyes and I wondered if he’d been awake while I drew him. “My cell. Speed dial nine. Tell them to bring the car.”

I had no idea where his cell was, but while he stumbled into the bathroom, I found his clothes on the floor at the side of the bed and got it out of the pocket. I hit nine, and said Mr. Kinney needed the car at our address, and they seemed to know what to do about it, so I went looking for Brian in the shower. I just like to be clean.

We drove into town and picked up the Corvette near Babylon. It felt strange to be there early in the morning, with the sun shining on the streets I usually only saw at night. But it looked all bright and new and shiny, back from the dead. I was glad Brian’d rebuilt it. I was glad everyone kept dancing. Sometimes it does take a bomb to make you see things in a different light.

“Do you want to go in?” Brian was standing near the door of the car, looking just a little nervous while he fiddled with the keys. My stomach grumbled but I ignored it and told him yeah.

He let me in the back door with his key. It was after 11 in the morning, and the cleaning crews had been and gone. There were a few people there, including a couple of guys up in the DJ booth, but Brian ignored everyone. We walked out into the middle of the dance floor. “It’s so weird to see it all lit up.”

“I’ve gotten used to it, but yeah, at first it was weird.”

He’d reconfigured the bar area where the bomb had been, so that it wasn’t really anything anymore, just some space leading to another space. That made me glad for some reason. I don’t think I wanted people leaning on that bar, buying drinks and laughing and flirting. Brian took my hand and pulled me close. And my stomach decided that was a good time to complain loudly about its current state of emptiness. He burst out laughing.

“God, Justin. Was that a hint or what?”

“Hey! I have no control over that. It’s an involuntary physiological reaction to starvation. And you promised to feed me after I blew you in the shower. Pay up.”

We went to a place out by PIFA. Neither of us wanted to see anyone we knew, but we didn’t want to go anywhere we’d feel uncomfortable touching, because we didn’t seem to be able to stop holding hands. Every time I took mine away for some reason, he managed to get it back. And after we ate, while we were waiting for the check, he started massaging my right hand. It felt good.

“Does that feel better?”

I nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I miss this.” Fuck.

He just put his other arm up on my shoulder and pulled me in and kissed me. “Me too.”

After that visit, things changed. One day we were talking on the phone about something stupid, and he emailed me a file while we were talking, some kind of joke photo one of the artists at Kinnetik had done, and I opened it up and sent him something back, without really stopping to think that we were sending something other than blank emails.

After we got off the phone, when I went to shut off my laptop, I checked my email one last time, and there was an email from Brian. There wasn’t any message, but the subject line was “ooops.”

I hit reply and changed the subject line to say, “Well, ooops is bullshit.”

The next day I checked email before going to work, but there wasn’t anything more. When I got to work I checked again, and this time there was a reply, subject line just “Re: Well, ooops is bullshit,” but when I opened the email it actually had words in it. I was almost scared to read them, but it wasn’t really anything, just a link to a news article about the magazine I worked for and him saying he’d seen my mom that morning at Starbuck’s on his way into work, and she said to say hi.

And then I saw the last paragraph. “I have to be in New York on the 18th on business. I can stay the weekend if you want. Let me know.”  



	4. Plans, Chapter 4

  
  
  
**Plans, Chapter Three**  
by Xie

 _It is a bad plan that admits of no modification._ \- Publilius Syrus

**Justin’s POV**

_Christmas Eve_

Michael and Ben had left, and Melanie and Lindsay were in the kitchen making dinner for the kids. Brian was half asleep and half passed out on the couch after his and Michael’s marathon revisiting of their stoner youth. I stood looking at him for a minute, and then reached down, grabbed his hand, and said, “Let’s go upstairs. You don’t want Gus to see you like this.”

He opened one eye and tried to glare at me, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that his face was all smooshed into the couch.

“What time is it?”

“It’s time for you to go upstairs.”

He let me haul him off the couch and up to the bedroom. I contemplated making him take a shower, but he made a beeline for the bed and I let him crawl in. I crawled in after him and undressed him, while he lay back on the pillows with his eyes closed and his mouth open. He cooperated – I’m fairly sure Brian would have to be completely unconscious to not cooperate when I was trying to take his clothes off – but that was it.

I decided sleep sounded good, and stripped off my clothes, too. I threw his and mine onto the chair, and climbed onto the bed and pulled the duvet up over us both. He seemed to be really asleep now, so I snuggled up next to him and put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

I woke up some time later. I didn’t have a watch and the clock was on the other side of the bed, but the house sounded quiet. It could have been an hour later, and it could have been the middle of the night. Brian was asleep next to me, still on his back, lips still slightly open.

I started nibbling and putting little kisses on the side of his face, and he responded by moving a little and rolling slightly towards me. I kept kissing him and touching him with my tongue. I thought I felt his lips twitch and decided he was faking being asleep. I put my finger in my mouth and wet it, and slipped it down between his legs and worked it between his cheeks and touched it to his asshole. He groaned and said, “If you think I’m too hung over to notice, I’m not.”

“I’m horny. You need to fix that.” I started circling my finger around his asshole and when I felt it soften for a second, I slipped my finger in a tiny bit. It didn’t feel wet enough, so I leaned down and butted my head against his hip until he rolled over enough for me to get my mouth down to where my finger was. I licked at my finger, letting a generous amount of spit run down to his hole, and then bent my finger just enough to let some of it slip in, without pulling out. He groaned again, but this time in a good way. I pressed my hand on his hip and he rolled all the way over. He even spread his legs a little, and I had my mouth on his asshole before he’d stopped moving. I slipped my tongue in next to my finger and made it hard and pointed and fucked him with it, sliding my finger in and rubbing his prostate. He rocked back against my mouth and I scrambled over his legs and lay down between his thighs. He had snuck his hand down between the mattress and his cock, and I pulled it away, holding his wrist down on the bed next to him while I fucked him with my tongue and finger.

He backed up a little more, and tried to get his hand away from me. I tapped hard on his prostate and he gave a loud moan and bucked a little bit, and I bit at his asshole before putting my tongue back in. He moved his hand back up and grabbed the pillow in his fists, burying his face in it. And lifted up just a little more. He was almost, not quite but almost, on his knees now. His cock and balls were in front of my face, and I kept eating his ass and playing in it with my finger. His cock was dripping onto the dark sheets. He was rocking back and forth, no friction on his cock, the pillow still clutched in his fists, his face still buried.

I fought the impulse to just swarm up over him and fuck the shit out of him. Trying that usually got me flipped over on my back, which wasn’t a bad thing but not what I wanted that night. I worked one more finger inside him, and then gently, carefully opened him up, moving my fingers apart and together, licking and wetting him with my tongue, touching his prostate softly, rubbing it, feeling him open up and widen and then, finally, rise up all the way onto his knees. Which he never, ever did unless he wanted me to fuck him.

I lifted my head and eased my fingers out, and got up on my knees behind him. I reached up for condoms and lube from the bedside table drawer. He didn’t even turn his head, just stayed there, even when I ripped open the condom and rolled it onto my cock, even when I put my fingers back against his hole. I squirted lube down over them, lots of lube, and let it spill around and onto his asshole, then backed my fingers up and let it pool around them, and then slipped them in, making sure he was still open, making sure he was as wet as I could make him. He pressed back on my hand and groaned, and for a minute I fought the impulse to just shove my dick in him all at once. Me fucking Brian was sometimes the hardest, sweetest thing we ever did in bed.

I put my hands down on either side of him, and moved up until my cock was lying along the crack of his ass. I shifted back and used my right hand to guide it where I wanted it, right at his hole, all my weight on my left arm and my knees. Brian shifted just a little when he felt me pressing at him, widening his legs and rocking his hips, and I let my cock rest there for a second. And then I pressed it in the tiniest bit. Sometimes I had to start over with my fingers at this point, but not tonight. Tonight he opened up just as I moved in, and I went further than I thought I would, and gasped. I grabbed onto his hips with both hands to hold him still and froze there, breathing fast and trying to keep myself as calm as I could be when I was half in Brian’s ass. Which was the tightest ass I’d ever been inside.

His right hand moved back again, and this time I let him grab his cock, while I followed the next wave of softening all the way down, further in one thrust than Brian normally could handle. He jerked a little bit, and I soothed him with my hands on his sides and back, and then bent forward and dropped my forehead to his back and kissed him, and started moving in and out. I can’t even explain what it is about fucking him that makes me feel like I’m seventeen again, and totally in over my head. Maybe it was the sense that I was barely in control of the fuck, or even of my own response, and that I had to find some way to be in control every minute of it.

I was thrusting into him, not slowly but not too fast, angling myself to hit his prostate every time, trying not to let the tightness and heat push me ahead of him, my hands on his hips, Brian fucking his own hand under me. He gave a groan that almost made me come, and I bit down on my lip, and stayed with my rhythm, faster but still steady, easy, starting to feel my balls draw up, and the hot burn starting in them. Brian had brought his left arm under his forehead, and was moving his head back and forth against it. I wanted to kiss his mouth but I just kept kissing his back, then pulled back and started fucking him faster. His hand was moving on his cock, and I was starting to dissolve, and knew I was about to lose it.

Then Brian slammed back onto me and froze, a beautiful hard moan ripping out of him, and I let myself go, shoving deeply in one last time and just letting the orgasm pour out of me, into him, feeling hot and wet all around me while his ass wall clamped down on me over and over as he came.

He lay under me panting, and I lay on his back for a minute, trying to get my control back from wherever it had gone. I waited until his ass stopped clutching at me, waited until it relaxed for just a heartbeat, then waited for it again, to be sure I knew when it would happen, and then waited for one last beat of opening and softening, and pulled out. However careful I was, I knew it still hurt him, and he gave a little moan. I bent over him, kissing his shoulders and neck, and he turned his head to the side and let me kiss his mouth, softly.

I pulled off the condom and tied it and tossed it, and lay back down next to Brian, letting him turn and lie half on top of me, running my hands softly over his back and touching his hair. I felt like my heart was going to break open and pour over him. I was pretty sure he’d gone back to sleep, so I touched my lips to his hair softly and said, “Merry Christmas.”

He snuggled in a little deeper and said “Mmmm.”

“Go to sleep. Gus is going to get us up in like two hours.”

But he was already asleep.

**Melanie’s POV**

There seriously is not enough coffee in the world to compensate for motherhood. Sleep deprivation is my life. If it’s not Jenny needing her little baby darling princess diapers changed or her mopsie stuffed kittybearbunny picked up off the floor, it’s Gus yelling in my ear “GET UP GET UP GET UP!” because Santa came.

Because all the toys get taken back if you wait until the sun comes up to open them. Everyone knows that.

Even if Justin hadn’t already been sort of growing on me lately, the huge pot of coffee on the kitchen counter would have done it. I hoped Lindsay got him something really nice from us. I hoped he’d bought the coffee with extra caffeine. Just in case, I put double the sugar in mine. Hopefully the high would last long enough for Gus to tear into the four thousand seven hundred twelve presents Brian had put under, around, near, and within the general vicinity of the tree. This is why I keep saying: Not a total dick.

Although Brian seemed to be in dire need of the extra-caffeinated coffee too. I think Justin put six sugars in his. You know, to give him the energy required to answer burning questions such as, “Could an android be killed by a cyborg or would the android win?”

Brian answered that very seriously, that it would depend on the firearms available to the android and if the cyborg was equipped with full destructive capabilities. Gus just nodded and snapped the android’s head off and looked inside it.

I went to get more coffee.

**Justin’s POV**

Brian and I stayed in denial as long as we could, but finally Gus’ “Get up, get up, get up” in the hall sent me down to the kitchen to make coffee while Brian assembled, operated, programmed, or otherwise did whatever you’re supposed to do with toys that have processors bigger than the entire computer system once used to manage the space program. Lindsay and Melanie looked totally out of it, and stumbled into the kitchen to get coffee with pathetic gratitude. I brought a cup to Brian out where he was patiently showing Gus how to convert a cyborg tank into a cyborg army. Or something. Brian’s in charge of toys in this house.

We heard Jenny wake up on the baby monitor and Mel went upstairs. Lindsay and Brian were playing with Gus, and I noticed that I was hungry. I went out into the kitchen and made some eggs and more coffee and some fat-free turkey bacon, the only kind of bacon Brian allowed me to bring into the house. I fried it in butter, though.

We were all sitting around the table after eating, watching Gus zoom around with his ray gun/sword/vaulting pole thing (I am definitely supervising Brian’s Christmas shopping next year), when Lindsay asked in a tragic voice if there was more coffee. I shook my head.

“I can make more if you want.” I didn’t sound too enthusiastic.

Brian looked over at me. “You know… I’m thinking that none of us really needs more coffee. We need to go back to bed.”

“You try telling your son that.” Lindsay looked dejectedly at Gus, who was pretty much literally bouncing off the walls at this point.

Brian smirked. “Fortunately, I’m just the drop in dad. You two are the parents. Me and Justin are going back to bed. Merry Christmas.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “Did you decide if you’re going to Debbie’s or not?”

Brian shot a look at me and I shrugged. “Yeah, let’s do it. We can always leave early.”

He snorted. “Famous last words.”

When we got out into the hall, instead of heading upstairs, Brian stopped and tugged me right up against his chest and looped his arms around my shoulders. “I have to give you your Christmas present.”

 “You already gave it to me this morning.” He’d gotten me a video iPod.

“Well, I kind of got you a second present.”

“You did? What is it? Where is it?”

He kissed my forehead. “Sort of outside.” He turned around, holding my hand, and pulled me out the front door. It was fucking twenty degrees out. We went around the side of the house to what other people might call “the garage” but was really the Corvette’s apartment. I assumed my present was in the trunk. I assumed wrong.

“You hate it.”

I shook my head.

“Then why are you fucking crying?”

I just sniffled on his chest while he stroked my hair. He pulled my chin up and looked into my eyes. He looked totally confused.

“We can trade it in for a car you like.”

I shook my head again. “I like it. I love it.”

“OK. Then why are you crying? You’re acting like fucking Lindsay.”

“What am I going to do with a car in New York?”

He tucked my head under his chin. It could have been an act of affection, or maybe he didn’t want me to see his face. “I thought you could keep it here, so when you’re at the house you’re not stuck here or dependent on me to get around.”

OK. This wasn’t in the plan. At least my plan. I was seriously starting to think Brian had a plan of his own.

“That’s a good idea.”

“So, we don’t have to take it back?”

I shook my head. “No, I love it, Brian. I really love it.” I really love you.

“Good. Now let’s go in, I’m fucking freezing out here.”

These are the kinds of things Brian does that confuse the hell out of me sometimes. You can practically beg for him to do something small, like take you out on your birthday or agree that yeah, you have some small degree of affection and commitment for each other, and he’s thrashing all over the place trying to get away or just looking at you like you’re insane. Like wanting to have breakfast in bed on your anniversary, if you had an anniversary, which of course you don’t, would be totally lesbianic. And then he’ll buy you a car. Or a house.

When he invited me to come home the weekend Babylon opened, it was the start of a lot of firsts: The first time we planned to be together, the first time Brian invited me to come home, the first time I came to Pittsburgh that we didn’t go to the loft, and the first time we slowly, tentatively started talking on the phone instead of just shooting empty emails across the internet and me hoping he’d be there when I made the 400-mile trip home.

And maybe the first time I realized I felt more at home in that house where I’d almost never been than anywhere else I’d ever spent a night. I don’t know why. Even though my name is on the deed next to his, Brian bought that house the same as he bought the loft and Gus’ cyborg army and his Armani suits and the plasma TV and Babylon.

But he bought the house for me.

For the visit that weekend, Brian had booked me on a plane going home early Monday morning instead of Sunday, when I normally had to leave if I was sharing a ride with someone. He brought me to the airport and we sat in the car at the curb. He wasn’t looking at me, and I suddenly felt a little uncertain, worried I’d let too much of my plan slip away from me. He’d called me the week before I was supposed to come home to tell me he’d bought me a plane ticket, so we avoided the discomfort of our first long distance call by fighting instead.

“I can get a ride with someone like I always do.”

“Yeah. Or you can fly.”

It went around like that for a while. Neither one of us is particularly good at getting the other one to change his mind. I got bored and gave in. He kept arguing for a little while before he noticed.

We didn’t have a fight the second time he called, which was kind of a shame because there’s nothing like arguing to fill up the silences. The silences were the whole reason I’d abandoned the telephone as a method of communication with Brian in the first place. Some of the most uncomfortable moments of my life have been spent trying to get Brian to answer a simple question like “So, how’s it going?” while on my cell phone in LA. But he was calling from Kinnetik to check on something about a car picking me up when I got to Pittsburgh and I was at work, so we just kind of blew through the call and “later.”

I still hadn’t made up my mind if this was a good or bad thing. It’s just my plan had been working so well, I was reluctant to deviate from it, and it seemed like the longer it went on, the more last-minute revisions I kept making. The whole weekend at the house wasn’t part of my plan, or him driving me to the airport. The whole point of having a plan is you don’t leave this kind of shit to chance.

So, we were sitting at the curb at the airport. Brian turned his head in my direction, his hands on the steering wheel. He tilted his head just a little and I felt my face just smile, totally without any decision on my part.  He cleared his throat and turned his lips inward and did all the things Brian does when he’s about to make a huge emotional commitment like ask you to go have a cup of coffee at the diner with him.

“Call me when you get home.”

I looked at him across the space between us, feeling pretty much the way I did when he first brought me out to the house and told me he’d bought it for us. A mixture of “this is so wonderful it can’t be true” and “this is so horrible it can’t be true” and “this is so weird it can’t be true.” Like I said, loving Brian can be complicated.

“OK. Later.” And I got out of the car. I didn’t kiss him because I was fairly sure if I did, I’d ask if I could stay, and that wasn’t a decision I wanted him to make when he’d almost twisted the steering wheel off with anxiety just asking me to call him on the fucking phone.

I called him when I got off the plane. He actually answered. Even though he’d asked me to call, it wasn’t impossible, in fact it was likely, that he’d ignore it when I did. But he answered.

“Hey.”

“I’m here.”

OK, this was the silence thing. I mean, what did I expect him to say? “I miss you already? How was your flight? Get home safe?” Sure, that was gonna happen. Sentimentality and small talk and Brian Kinney. Not.

“I should have asked, how do you get home? Take a cab, I’ll pay for it.”

“Brian, it’s like fifty bucks.”

“I know how much a cab ride from the airport costs.” I’m sure he did.

“I’m fine, it’s broad daylight, don’t worry.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

But see, that’s how it starts. Pre-meditated visits, phone conversations, all I needed now was someone to fucking write an article about the latest show I was in. I went outside to grab a cab. It’s only money.

**Melanie’s POV**

It turned out Brian’s gift-giving insanity didn’t extend only to Gus. He’d bought Justin a fucking Land Rover. Which I guess he just sort of handed over to Justin in passing after they left to go upstairs for a "nap,” like it was an afterthought or a stocking stuffer or something. Must have been some nap.

Lindsay didn’t seem happy about Justin’s new car. I wasn’t sure if she thought Brian should have bought us a car instead (especially as we might have to rent a truck to bring home all the crap he’d bought Gus), or just in general disapproved of Brian spending money on Justin.

“What’s the problem, Linds? You’re acting all upset about Justin’s new car.” We were in the kitchen, sucking down more coffee at the table where this whole fucking mess started.

“I just don’t want to see Brian get hurt again.”

“Hurt again? By Justin? What are you talking about?”

She got up from the table, walked over to the counter and picked up an apple and started slicing it on the cutting board.

I tried again. “Lindsay, sweetie … you were always telling everyone that Brian really loved Justin, back when they broke up that time. What are you worried about?”

She frowned. “I do think Brian really loves Justin. That’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

“The problem isn’t Brian, it’s Justin.”

“Justin really loves Brian. Can’t you see how happy they are together? How much less of a dick Brian is?”

“Yes, and I also see that Justin is 22 years old and has his whole life ahead of him and that no one stays with the person they were in love with when they were 17 years old!”

“So, just rip the bandage off and get it over with, is that what you’re saying?”

She walked agitatedly over to the sink and dumped all the apple she’d just sliced in it. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do, but let me ask you something. How old were you when you met Brian?”

Lindsay didn’t answer for a long time. “Eighteen.”

“And you still love him.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes, it is. Brian loves Justin back.”

Lindsay turned around and looked at me. I went ahead and looked her right in the eyes. We may as well have this discussion, it’s only been ten years and two kids.

“Mel, I am not in love with Brian.” She looked me right in the eyes, too, and her face was completely serene.

I didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“I’m not. Yes, I love him, probably as much as I love Gus. Probably in a lot of the same ways. I don’t want to marry him or sleep with him or live happily ever after with him. I just want him in my life, to be Gus’ father and to be part of our family. And I have asked you over and over to accept him, for my sake, for Gus’ sake, and you never have. Because you’re jealous? Is that why?” While she was talking she’d walked over to me and knelt in front of me. She was holding both my hands.

I sat there for a while, thinking about the virtues of Justin’s new policy of never talking things over. I seemed to remember encouraging Lindsay to talk and open up more. I must have been drunk.

I sighed. “I don’t hate Brian, I really don’t. I actually kind of like him. In small doses. I mean, I’ve always said he’s not a total dick.”

“When did you ever say that?”

“To myself. I always told myself he’s not a total dick.”

She laughed and kissed me. I was so fucked.

**Justin’s POV**

We went back inside and he brought me into the living room and pulled me down into his arms on the sofa facing the fireplace. Mel and Linds were in the kitchen on the other side of the house. He wrapped his arms around me and didn’t say anything while I sniffled and cried a little more, and then finally just lay my head back against him and stared at the fire.

I was kind of drifting off when Brian said something.

"This aversion you have to talking about stuff is starting to freak me out."

This was the second time Brian had started a serious conversation with me when I was half-asleep. Timing is everything. Fuck.

"Mmmmm."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"Did you ask a question?"

He didn’t respond right away, and I was hoping he’d given up.

"Justin, what's with the silent treatment?"

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment." I pulled myself up and kissed him. I was tired but if sex would get him to shut up, I could live with that.

He took the kiss. I let my mouth open just a little, and his tongue slipped inside. I opened my mouth more, and touched his tongue with mine, making my mouth soft and open and pliant. His breath changed and he suddenly stretched me out on my back on the sofa, lying on top of me and deepening the kiss, making my mouth open as far as it could, sucking on my tongue. His left hand was in my hair, and his right hand reached down inside my sweats and grabbed my thigh, pulling it up roughly and then slipping down and cradling my balls. He held them gently, then closed his hand just a little on them, and pressed his lips to the spot where my neck curves into my shoulder, where it always makes me crazy, and said, "Talk."

Timing is everything.

I rolled away from him and crossed my arms over my face. "You really are a complete shit, Brian."

He just smirked. "Talk."

"When did you turn into a lesbian?"

"When you started acting like a twat."

If I’d known that not talking was the best way to get Brian to talk, we’d have had this conversation years ago. Unfortunately, I was no way ready to have it now.

Brian got up and shut the doors to the room before sitting down in the chair across from the sofa. Figures. He was going to have this conversation. With me or without me. I was so fucked.

 “I asked you before what you wanted. You said you wanted us to be a couple."  
   
"And you made fun of me for wanting that. You said it was bullshit."  
   
Brian looked down and fiddled with his fingers a little. Then he got up and walked over to the fireplace. He didn't say anything. But I could tell he was listening.  
   
Fuck it. Fuck my plan, fuck not talking. Fuck him. "Brian. You know, I've tried to tell you what I want. I've tried to not tell you, just show you. I've tried to change what I want to match what I think you want. I've tried to figure out what you want without you telling me. But once, just once, would you do me the favor of telling me what it really is that you want?"  
   
Brian was half turned away from me, looking out the window. His shoulders looked tense. "I told you."  
   
I was totally lost by this. "When?"  
   
"In this house. I told you."  
   
"To marry me? Brian."  
   
"Jesus, Justin, you're the one going on and on about how you tried to show me what you want without telling me." He turned and faced me, running his hand through his hair and then jamming it behind his back.  
   
I'd known before it started that half this conversation was going to be body language and reading between the lines. "OK, are you saying you've been doing that?"  
   
Brian shrugged. But he didn’t turn away. He just stood here, looking at me, his hair all messed up and his left arm still awkwardly stuck behind his back.  
   
"Then let me tell you what I think you want. You want me to almost never talk to you about our relationship, except for short and basically cryptic discussions when we're drunk or stoned or lying in bed after sex. You want me to put my career as an artist in front of everything else, even if I have to leave for days or weeks at a time. If and when I'm gone, you want me to somehow, without words, let you know every day that I'm thinking about you. You want me to do exactly what I want with my life, although it makes you fucking uncomfortable to think part of that involves wanting to be with you. You want to be sentimental and sweet in front of other people on major holidays, and fuck me into the mattress when we're alone. And once in a while you want to go out and get drunk and high and have meaningless hot sex with strangers and then come home and shower and sleep with me. And you want me to not expect you to say you love me unless there's a bomb involved."

I got up and walked over and stood right in front of him. I put my hands on his shoulders and tipped my head back so I could look him right in the eye. "How'd I do?"  
   
He almost smiled. "Not bad." He put his hands on top of mine on his shoulders. I twined my fingers with his. Then he really did smile.  
   
I licked my lips. He smirked. Asshole. "Fine, then tell me, what did I leave out, or what would you leave out?"  
   
"We can skip the last thing. No more bombs. And not all major holidays. And you didn't mention you blowing me, which is non-negotiable."  
   
"OK. I want some things too."  
   
He raised his eyebrow. "This approach didn't work out so great last time."  
   
I laughed. "No, it didn't. But I want some things anyway. I want to live here. I want to paint here. I want to stop feeling like you're going to chase me off for my own good every time I turn around. If I get into any more shows you have to be there for the openings. And I want a complete list of the major holidays you're going to be sweet and sentimental on, and the ones you aren't. I may be willing to compromise on Flag Day."  
   
Brian was biting his lip. And then his tongue was kind of sticking out just a tiny bit. I'd never noticed him do that before. It was pretty adorable. It was Gus-like. It was very distracting.  
   
He seemed to make up his mind about something, and brought his hands to the sides of my head. He worked his fingers into my hair and leaned down and kissed me. I licked just the tiniest bit at his lips, and he opened his mouth up and started sucking my tongue inside, and slid a hand around to the back of my neck, and the other down to my waist and pulled me into him hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him pull me in. He shifted his thigh in between my legs and then broke his mouth away from mine. I was almost panting.  
   
"Are we done?" He was smiling down into my eyes.  
   
"Ummm... with what?"  
   
"The conversation."  
   
"Did we decide anything?"  
   
"Yeah, no Flag Day."  
   
"Right." I started kissing his throat. There was a knock on the door, and Lindsay came in. I was fucked if I was going to jump out of Brian’s arms in our own house, but I did pull away just a little.

Brian naturally responded to that by pulling me tighter and groping my ass. He leered at Lindsay and said, “Need something?”

She  just laughed. “We should go; we said we’d be there by three and it’s past two-thirty.”

“OK, let me just finish what I was doing here.” And he lifted me up off the floor with his hands under my ass and opened his mouth on mine and kissed me hard. Lindsay must have left because by the time he set me back down, she was gone.

**Melanie’s POV**

Brian and Justin went to Debbie’s in Justin’s new car, but Linds and I took our car since it had the baby seats in it already. Besides, it would be easier for Brian to blow Justin while he drove without me and Linds and the kids watching.

Debbie’s house was like one of those places they feature on HGTV, something like “Extreme Kitsch Gone Santa.” There were reindeer on the roof, porno elves in the front yard, lights everywhere, and canned music emerging from some kind of automated stuffed animal. Emmett had definitely not been in charge of this one.  
   
And speaking of Emmett, he came out on the porch screaming “Merry Christmas!” and pulling Jenny out of my arms. “How’s the littlest angel? What a sweet little darling girl!” Seriously, people need to think about the way they talk to kids. It’s disgusting. No wonder we end up with outfits called “romperettes” and diapers with bunnies on them.  
   
“Jesus Christ, Emmett, don’t make me puke before I even eat.” Brian stalked past him. Like I said: Not a total dick.  
   
The next thing I knew, Grandma Deb had Jenny and was carrying her off to be billed and cooed at and scarred for life by the whole freakish extended family. Something else I failed to take into consideration when choosing a father for Jenny.  
   
Lindsay came back from hanging up our coats. “They stole our kids?”  
   
“Looks that way. Michael is over there drooling on Jenny and Debbie is shoveling sugar down Gus’ throat. Ho ho ho.” Lindsay gave me a tolerant smile. She’d probably be over there drooling with Michael if I wasn’t there keeping an eye on her.  
   
I smiled and small talked and accepted compliments on the adorableness of my child until we ate. Carl sliced the turkey, Michael fed Jenny, and I started to have a post-pig-out need for a nap. Motherhood. Chronic sleep deprivation. Naps. I went into the living room.  
   
I woke up to the sound of Gus shrieking in laughter, signaling an impending sugar crash, and looked around for Lindsay. I didn’t see her. I did see my daughter being walked around the room on Hunter’s shoulders, with her hands grabbing at his hair while she squealed. It was going to take me weeks to deprogram this child.  
   
I walked out to the kitchen.

“Sweetie, you’re up!” Debbie was in her element, dishing up food and surrounded by family. It was kind of heartwarming in a tacky, overblown, incredibly red and green sort of way. I took the cup of coffee she shoved in my hand and wandered over to where Emmett and Carl were flipping through an assortment of Christmas albums. Debbie still had a record player. I bet Gus wouldn’t even know what one was.

“So, where’s Teddy?”

Emmett laughed and said, “Oh, Teddy and Blake went skiing. Romantic weekend by the roaring fire, room service, maid service, I have no idea why anyone would rather do that then be here listening to Guy Lombardo’s Christmas album, but Ted’s always been basically incomprehensible to me. I mean, he’s an accountant.”

I heard a crash from upstairs, and scanned the room for Gus. No sign of him. I sighed. Then I heard Hunter’s voice saying “Oh shit” and I figured he had it under control. “Has anyone seen Lindsay?” If Gus had broken something important, she could deal with it. She could get those teary eyes much better than I could.

“I think she went outside with Justin a little while ago,” Ben offered. He was in the kitchen helping Debbie put leftovers into packages for all the starving people in, you know, this room. The ones who just ate so much we were almost catatonic? In case we needed a little snack later.

I went out the back door, and heard Lindsay’s voice. I stopped to listen.

“Justin, you don’t understand.” She sounded upset.  
   
But Justin sounded angry. “Lindsay, you have no idea how it bothers him to have Gus so far away. Can’t you see what it’s doing to him? How happy he’s been while you’ve been here?”

“Justin, I know you want Brian to be more in Gus’ life, but what gives you the right to decide what’s fair to him and what’s not?”  
   
It seemed like I wasn’t the only eavesdropper; Brian’s voice cut in from the other side of the house. “Worry about the rights of opressed political prisoners in third world dictatorships, not mine.” He came down the stairs from the front porch and threw down his cigarette and ground it into the dirt.  
   
Lindsay whipped around on him. "Can everyone fucking stop telling me what to think and do?"

Justin looked away from them, and saw me standing on the steps. I shifted from one foot to the other and tried to figure out what was going on.

"I certainly can," Brian said. He wasn't exactly shaking, more like vibrating with some kind of weird energy that felt like it was going to fly out of him in jagged pieces. I would have been afraid to touch or go near him. But Justin went right up to him and wrapped his arms around him and pressed his whole body to him and said, firmly, "Take me home."  
   
And Brian took a deep breath and looked down at Justin's face and dropped his head and touched foreheads with him, and said, "OK."  
   
They left, and Lindsay looked like she was going to cry. I stepped down into the yard and slipped my arms around her. “What the fuck is going on, Linds?” But I was stroking her hair while I said it. And then she did start to cry.

I held onto her and murmured the sort of meaningless crap you say to people who are crying. She held onto my shoulders and buried her face in my neck and just kept sobbing. “What is it, baby? What’s wrong? You know Brian, he’s a dick. It’ll be OK.”

Lindsay shook her head. “He’s not a dick.”

Christ. You can’t win with her sometimes.

“Then why are you crying?”

She pulled her head up and looked right into my eyes. “I want to come home.”

Fuck me.

I brought Linds inside because it was just too cold to stand out there with snot dripping out of her nose. Everyone of course came running over, and swarmed around her with tissues and sympathy. Lindsay wasn’t even trying. It was that blonde weepy thing, no one can resist it. And I say that as the woman with iced snot on her shirt.

Em took her up to Debbie’s bathroom to do some kind of makeover magic on the red eyes and blotchy face. I sat back down at the kitchen table with Ben and Michael and Hunter, who had Jenny in his lap.

“What happened? Did Brian and Justin leave? Did Brian and Lindsay have a fight?” It was Michael, trying to fit the pieces together.

“Just the usual drama – I think she and Justin were arguing about something to do with Brian and he overheard it and lost his shit.”

“She and _Justin_ were arguing?”

“That’s how it sounded to me.” When blonds collide.

When Lindsay got downstairs we stayed long enough to have pie and coffee and offer to help Debbie with the dishes (and be turned down, as always and thank god, because I wanted to get the fuck out of there). And we didn’t talk on the way home, even though Gus was crashed out in the backseat and Jenny wasn’t likely to be scarred for life from hearing Lindsay explain to me in words of one syllable just what the fuck her problem was with Justin.

After I got Jenny changed and swaddled and all pink and fluffy (Emmett’s gift to her, don’t ask) and in her crib, I went back to our room. Lindsay was sitting on the chair at the foot of the bed, her feet curled under her, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. She was crying again.

“Wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“Justin was saying that we really hurt Brian taking Gus away. I told him we gave Brian the choice, he could have said no, and he didn’t. And Justin said…” and here Lindsay started doing the snot thing again. I brought her a tissue and slid down into the chair behind her and made those noises again, the meaningless ones. She sniffed and sighed and ran her hand through her hair and then got up. So much for the comforting touch. Or maybe I had to work on my meaningless noises.

“What did Justin say?” I could see we were in for a long night.

“He said that Brian always does that, always gives up without a fight.”

I was beginning to understand Justin’s plan covered some areas he hadn’t discussed with me. The little fucker.

As I remembered it, Brian had tried to put up a fight, but I’m going to guess that Lindsay did the tears and tragedy talk on him and he finally gave in.

“But Justin wasn’t just talking about Gus.” Lindsay was kind of gulping and crying now. Not pretty. “He meant him, too. I know he did. And that’s what made me so angry.”

I rubbed my head. OK. I knew Lindsay thought Justin was insane for passing up the chance to go to New York. I agreed with her at the time. But I was suddenly thinking about that whole Princess Bride thing, and true love, and the not a total dick thing, and I was starting to get a bad feeling. Yeah, and the cyborg vs android thing. Fuck. Fuck Justin, fuck his plan, fuck me going along with his plan, fuck me.

“What do you want, Lindsay? You really want to come back here? To be with Brian?”

“It’s not for me to be with Brian. It’s not even for Gus to be with Brian, or Brian to be with Gus. It’s because he’s part of our family. We should be together. If bigots and homophobes can break our family up, then what did we gain by leaving?”

I really had to pay more attention to what went on in Lindsay’s head. Because there wasn’t anything to say to that. I mean, if we didn’t come back, the terrorists would win. She was the most ruthless debater I’d ever known, and I’m a lawyer.

Lindsay walked over and knelt down in front of me. “I love you, Mel. And Gus and Jenny. And I love Brian.” She smiled and slipped her hands on the sides of my face. “And not in the way you’re thinking. You’re my family. I love you. And I want to come home. Justin’s right.”

Yeah. No shit. About a lot of stuff, apparently.

**Justin’s POV**

The ride home wasn’t anywhere near as fun as the ride there, mostly because instead of rubbing my crotch and trying to get me to let him undo my pants while I drove, he was drumming on his own thighs with his fingers, messing up his hair with his hands, and staring out the window. I didn’t want him to smoke in my new car, but he finally drove me so crazy I told him to have a cigarette before I made him walk home.

“It doesn’t matter, Brian.”

He didn’t say anything. I really had no idea why I bothered talking to him when he was like this, it was like I wasn’t even there. So I shut up for the rest of the drive home.

The minute we got there Brian headed straight for the bar. He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and shut himself in his media room. I shrugged and went upstairs. When he got like this there was nothing I could do and at least here, there was somewhere to go until he passed out or got over it.

**Melanie’s POV**

Lindsay put water on for tea, and I went upstairs to check on the kids. I found Gus asleep on the floor of his room with his cyborg army all spread out around him. I got him into his bed and covered him up, and then went downstairs. On the way through the hall I noticed the lights were on in Brian’s media room. I hesitated, because if he was still up, he was probably plastered out of his mind. Sometimes Brian actually is kind of a dick.

He was standing by the window, a bottle in his hand.

“Am I interrupting?”

He didn’t even turn his head. “Yes. But I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

“What exactly am I interrupting, Brian, you getting drunk and morose? A massive orgy of self-pity?” He just took another swallow and stood looking out the window. Weird how enthralled he seemed with the view, considering it was pitch dark outside.

“Anyway, all I wanted to tell you, and I’m sure you won’t give a fuck, is Lindsay wants to come home so we’re coming home. Which means Gus is coming home. Which I sort of thought you’d want to know.”

Brian turned around and looked at me. He really was drunk, but he was in that stage where he said everything very carefully. “I don’t care what you lesbianic twats decide to do. Stay, go, I don’t give a fuck.”

Whatever.

“Lindsay’s going to apologize to Justin. She says he was right. About you, about Gus, about her.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe when she’s done apologizing to Justin she can apologize to me.” OK, now he was slipping down the slope past careful to bitter, vengeful, and queeny.

“Lindsay didn’t do anything to you. What does she have to apologize for, exactly?” I was trying to be gentle. He was Gus’ father, he was drunk, and I had a point and I was trying to soften him up so he’d hear it.

Silence.

“She did something to Justin, not you. She’s apologizing to him, not you.”

Silence.

“Unless you think she needs to apologize to you for hurting you by hurting him? I mean, talk about being a lesbianic twat.”

“Fuck you.”

Asshole. He might have been too drunk to get what I was about to say, but fuck it. “You know what, Brian? Seriously, I hope Justin appreciates what you’re giving up for him.” And then I walked out of the room.

**Justin’s POV**

Since it was Christmas, I relented after a while and went downstairs looking for him. He was lying on the couch, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor next to him. But he was still awake. I stood over him and he looked up at me. He didn’t look half as fucked up as I’d have predicted.

“So.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything more. He was just looking at me. It made me nervous so I knelt down and put my arm across his chest and my head on his shoulder. He sighed a little and brought his arms up and wrapped them around me.

“You want to live here?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t want him to see my face.

“With me?”

Idiot. “Yeah.”

“No Flag Day, I say I love you even when there’s no bombs, you blow me whenever I want, you paint no matter what, and I don’t get to decide how you live your life without at least some minor input from you.”

“No Flag Day, you say you love me without a bomb, I blow you whenever I want, I paint no matter what, and I get major input and veto power about how I live my life. And we don’t fuck anyone but each other in this house.”

“Outside the house?”

“It all depends.”

“On what?”

“How bad you want to fuck my ass without a condom.”

“You know, Justin, you are a seriously, deeply devious person.”

“You’re only just figuring this out now?”

“Actually, no. I should have figured it out about two days after I met you, but it seems to have taken me until you started that whole email thing to grasp the actual scope of your deviousness.”

“You’ve always been a little slow.”

“I’m sweet.”

“Yeah, you are. You liked the email thing?”

“It was genius.”

“And the not talking about stuff thing, did you like that?”

“At first I did, but then I started to worry that your vocal chords had been cut or something. Justin not talking. Scary. It’s like if you stopped eating, or sucking dick.” He was kind of hugging me, and he kissed my hair when he said it.

“Yeah, I always like to be doing something with my mouth.” I lifted up my head and demonstrated with a big kiss.

“OK, that’s good, but don’t totally stop talking. You know, once a year or so is fine.”

“Like how often you let me fuck you? We’ll have a conversation then too?”

“That sounds like a little too much stress for me in one day.”

I smacked him. “STRESS? The greatest sexual experience of your life and you call it STRESS?”

Brian was laughing under me and I started to kiss him again. “OK, tell me now.”

“Tell you what?”

“The thing you don’t need a bomb to tell me.”

He groaned.

“Say it now. I’m not kidding.” But I was laughing so he probably didn’t believe me.

He mumbled something.

“OK, that’s so totally not going to count. Say it so I can hear it.”

He got a frustrated look on his face and shoved his hand through his hair, leaving it standing up all weird. It made me hard just to look at it, so I kissed him again. And I breathed right against his mouth, “Say it.”

“You say it.”

“I love you. See what a tough guy I am?”

“I love you.” He looked like he was going to choke.

“Jesus Christ, Brian, does that cause you actual physical pain or just severe psychological distress?” He heaved up off the sofa and dumped me on the floor, then stuck his hand out. I took it.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“We have to go upstairs.”

“How come?”

“Because you’ve caused me severe psychological distress and actual physical pain, which makes me need to fuck you, and I don’t want the kids to see that.”

“So every time you say you love me, we have to fuck?”

“Yeah.”

That sounded like a plan.


End file.
